Poem 118, Sonnet 58: Decade Poem by Samer Madbak

Ten years have passed since last I penned a line
So little have I writ, so much untold
So grievous, and so dear the days of old
So flagrant and consummate my decline
Ten years, the kingdom of ordeal was mine
And still I sleep upon my bed of mould
And tremble with delight when I enfold
The bilious breast of Hel, my concubine
Ten vacant years, too hollow to resign
Too many tears, too scalding to withhold
My quill is dry, and Oh! This heart is cold
Sludgy the fountain erstwhile crystalline
Ten years… so little scrawled, so little said
My soul too idle, and my Muse too dead!


Kaslik
September 11th 1996