I think it's a strange world we live in dear Such different places to visit More adventures to conquer fear Opportunities that do not limit
So many different choices So little prodigious wonder As well as so many different voices That followed me as I went under
I think of life as different houses I've built mine of wood instead of stone with couches so me moving would be understood
My element is not a home For it's dark, and I'm not alone
My third sonnet, am I doing better or worse. Huge question, are my poems always depressing? Apologies if it is, I sort of am, but I hope this sonnet is something good for someone else