She wishes moon-lit skies not linger on,
to bring her mind relief and startle open
her sleepy eyes with fated sunlight's dawn.
The stars come prick her pupils wide again
for her to heft them higher in foamy skies
and let them see themselves. She tires to wake
and carry reddened giants in her eyes.
The night to pass for beauty's tired sake.
She leaves the flickers neath her wings alone
that some may pleasure take upon their breath—
an ever-lasting fortitude soft-known
beyond her start-and-falter heart in breast.
No glimmer greater sighed the sun can give
than days: onward, upward, you live—you live.
Written for my Intellectual Traditions class.
Sonnets can be cool, but man, that took a long time... haha too tired to think of solutions to any mistakes.
Also, if Mr. Erickson reads this—according to our old forgotten deal, now you need to write a sonnet too!
