January 9, 2011

Italian sonnet death

Racing, Pacing, chasing apparitions
Of yesterday silently concerned
the deficiency of your pulse burned
I have nothing left but volition 
hope explodes upon ignition
the bitter Hatred inside me churned 
for the warmth of you smile I yearned
gasps feigning the predispositions 
Of life being drained away from you
Death eminent on your cold lips
touching your face with my finger tips
To my surprise, you opened your eyes
and your hand hungrily clasped mine
Bringing me to note we still had time

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