A Sonnet for the Holidays

iii.

I have bought my peace, my spirit the coin
To which dead purpose and blank effort spent
Have achieved no other than but to rejoin
Ageless meander and my days misspent.
I remember you, yet am forgotten
As a passing car or faceless stranger,
And through passion born but misbegotten
I cannot forget nor face the danger,
Nor by forgetfulness lose the vision
Of the beauty once seen and lost to desire
And cautionsness. Earning cold derision
That extinguishes all that hope had inspired,
Bleed me now and take from me that I am.
What's passion but the measure of the man.

Tags: poetry, sonnet