I miss her. That is all I have to say.
A single picture is all that I hold.
The night is not night, and the day not day.
When the story is left to be untold.
I silently beg for a second chance,
back into the lost and beautiful past.
My maladroit feet have halted the dance
and it has hampered the length it shall last.
Shakespearean Sonnet, a structured set,
for all the chaos that entices me.
The impending Omega sure will let
the cold winter tides return from the sea.
Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?
Or shall I let thy anger push away?