These sonnets, these sonnets
These words would never end
This love this melody
This lilt shall remain a friend
this passion this hope
this need; lives it transcends

I keep writing making silly rhymes. Words fall, bend, blend in an array of meaningless thoughts. Love contend with ache: Heart content with brain. My soul, unable to comprehend, lets out a sigh. Unintended it amends and wends my beilefs. My boat ascends foreword. My heart pretends normal. Away from the condescending colleagues, I head to in the direction of dreams. At a distance, I see her waving, and I look down on my hand, engraved a name: she owns. My palm distends and announces an arrival. I pretend this will be final. A call from the wild invokes my mild intentions to tell her the truth and hope this won't be vital.