This is what can happen if you let the fragment of a suggestion play itself out. Dangerous? Perhaps.
(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCLX)
One dead leaf that October left fr'intents
Behind for old time's sake, 'non dances, pale
And lonely 'cross the naked blacktop, frail
Or homeless where snow skulks in cold suspense,
(To hunker down like yielding is pretense)
Its fragile essence like ours as th'exhale
Drives it on forward, March' winds chill detail
As our iniquities til Death. Ah, whence?
I had this notion there was more as twere.
Like, if we bide our time, Spring shall 'gain woo
As wont. But if you hear the Scriptures fer
Lo, even this dead leaf, all pales. The crew
Of happy souls on Instagram, and poor
Lil me none knows, will answer, LORD, to...You.
10Mar19b
That's okay. I didn't begin writing poetry because any soul other than me, myself, and I wanted to do it. If nobody likes this, at least I did. Hahaha.
