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Printed from https://www.Writing.Com/view/1073852
by Fyn
Rated: E · Other · Other · #1073852
A Shakespearean Sonnet
Within me burning the fires of fright
Consume the fibre of my dying heart.
The singeing pain doth tear my faithful sight:
What Love is this that tears me thus apart?

What mockery, when passion's fury spent
For but a moment kindled with desire;
Deep well of darkness, a lasting moment?
No! Love would be more than flaming attire.

Love needs burn without consuming--
As the acorn withstands the blistering heat
Thus flame forth brightness all illuming:
Saplings birthed seed no defeat.

The fire doth burn warmer when burning low:
Bank the embers, embrace the glow.

© Copyright 2006 Fyn (fyndorian at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
Writing.Com, its affiliates and syndicates have been granted non-exclusive rights to display this work.
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Printed from https://www.Writing.Com/view/1073852