Original, autobiographical poetic sonnet by Donna J. Fennel.
Quilled on June 16, 2004 ~ The inner voice yearns to explore.
Revised especially for thee and me on April 27, 2006.
O, mine noble bard, when all is said and done
As I aimlessly ascend towards pearlesque sky ~
Erstwhile vestibule of vibrant violets slumber ~
Dazed by decadence of dreams destined to die.
Whence frailest of faeries in yonder garden ~
And sprite specters grace glens in winter's wood
Abruptly abandon memories of mine inner child ~
Alas, they venerably vanish in mists for good.
Whence dewdrops ‘pon aroused red rose petals ~
Glimmer and shimmer, beckoning birth of morn
Erstwhile tender, tiny teardrops, freshly fallen ~
Are placed ‘pon a baleful birth of life's stillborn.
Whence bygone faerie lore, I hath always adored ~
Is imprisoned or chirmed in mine mind, or burned
Whence this life I hast disdained and implored ~
Hath been abundantly altered, and now turned.
O, tell me, tell me, please, bard of mine past ~
Why and where I have erred in mine own ways?
Have I fractured mine parapet, frailest fortress ~
Merely to witnesseth mine destined falling days?
Lo, I dost realize mine foremost fault, by far ~
‘Pon Mother Earth, as thou best understands her
Is that in miniscule moment, perhaps I shall fall ~
Nonesuch pensive preoccupation to what I prefer.
O be so, ‘tis nonesuch a mystical wizard or magi ~
To hold mine doomed, dismal, doleful death at bay.
And there be nonesuch woeful words to whisper ~
To swagger or sway, ‘pon dawn of dreamy day.
So while I lust and languish in this faerie tale ~
In abyss of mine myriad of mind, a distant child
I must recollect and protect sincere soul subject ~
Holding steadfast, to keep life and love unmild.
‘Neath ghastly glare of Sedona sunset ‘pon high ~
Mine teardrops turneth dry, erstwhile doves fly by.
‘Pon pastural plain, play pearlized pelts of rain ~
And moors of mesmerizing mists ever still remain.
In yonder forest, bleeds bark of petrified trees ~
Smote with death, decadence and dismal disease.
Cast out prematurely by God, known too late ~
Is this a portense of mankind’s impending fate?
Bereft of hope they are unfortunates, forevermore ~
The mind ceases to explore; men no longer implore.
Words alive yet abandoned, ubiquitously unknown ~
Sonnets serendipitous, lingering in minds that roam.
Hereto I view voiceless ghost, roused from olden land
Who motions to virtuously venture in time’s vortex ~
‘Pon gossamer angel wings, I view the Sahara sand ~
To knowest pyramids’ progression of man’s perplex.
Tho I am capitulated and levitated towards maturity ~
Mine child within lingers inside wisp of mind’s cobwebs.
Erstwhile protected, she doth yearn to be resurrected ~
To bring to life her faerie tale now, before last breath.
Ah, hope need naught be shattered anew, each morn ~
Fate, like tortured trees: Bleak, lifeless and ere forlorn.
Like man, their woeful whispers are worn and rusted ~
As their sap now succumbs, fearing none can be trusted.
Moonshine mirrors and pirouettes ‘pon a rolling rivulet ~
Overtured by sensuous soliloquies, assailing one’s ears.
What I view in a sea of sanctimonious, sensuous glow ~
Unveils itself as prose, as universe would have us know.
Such comfort I find, as midsummer’s eve draws nigh ~
Hath been anticipated, as tempest of time passes by.
Enraptured in dreams, erstwhile heavens rain down ~
O, I drink in the sweetness of this mesmerizing sound.
Attention randomly refocused ‘pon drops that fall ~
Erstwhile mine spirit is awakened, as I hearken call.
Our Divine Creator attempts to wash me purely clean ~
With most tender tears of mine family no longer seen.
Whence I ponder, asking "Why?" , then second-guess ~
As interlude of balmy air doth soothe my weary breast.
Still of night now enters, whispering its cooing calm ~
I listen carefully now, for nature’s symphony is on.
Still doth the spectered soul, from silent sojourn high ~
‘Pon man’s labyrinth of life ruling effluence does send.
Alas, when it fails, fight as man will, whence he dies ~
Then will he comprehend he exists in realm without end.
Yea, when I dost falleth from that finite, finial time ~
Dauntlessly dreaming a decadence of delights no more.
O, humble bard, please weave me wondrous faery tale ~
Of kaleidoscopic kingdom and such scintillating shore!
Mine child lingering within yearns for a lilting lullaby ~
From her dear mother, who was taken by hand of God.
For when her womanhood dreams, she hearkens the cries ~
Of her inner child who died, as she sleeps ‘pon humble sod.
Ah, I knowest in heart, mine soul languishes to impart ~
Continuity of mine prose, like an eternal blooming rose.
Within my cavernous chasm of mind, I be overwrought ~
With schemes, to whirl my wistful worddom of dreams.
"‘Neath canopy of ancient oak trees, aura illumines with ease ~
To declare a new world of peace, where wonders shant cease.
For a heroine has risen to claim the sword of truth wielded ~
Uniting all under one sun, for feeble Earth has been shielded.
Mission eclipsed as a memory, lingering on and then gone ~
Omnipresence of a shadow, once appearing then withdrawn.
Entity passes on as adoring spirit, yet all knowing and wise ~
Nothing escapes her mind’s eye as she departs for the skies."
~ Donna J. Fennel - March 15, 2005 ~
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