sad little sonnet

eyelashes plucked
and the orange-peel breath
of Town Hall viaduct
smells like time left
behind, it’s not strange
to weep when tired
or look to rearrange
everything, rewired
and I wonder, lonely
if a fraud?
what if I only,
always, did what I adored?
Who cares, who cries
in empty offices full of sighs

 

Today’s challenge: write your own sad poem, but one that, like Teicher’s “Son“, achieves sadness through simplicity. Playing with the sonnet form may help you. Not sure this is a real sonnet. I followed the rhyme structure but I feel like it isn’t ‘right’

Photo by Edgar Castrejon on Unsplash

4 comments

  1. Claire, this is good. ‘its not strange to weep when tired or to rearrange everything,’ is the most natural thing said so simply. I loved it.

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