Sonnet 2: Her Beauty Is As Lines Laid On My Soul Poem by David Zvekic

Her beauty is as lines laid on my soul
  As found revealed beyond the reach of time;
  So subtle, fate's perfection draws me whole
  As powerless I cling to her design.
  Whatever whim she wishes plans my quest,
  Whatever deed she deigns fuels my desire,
  Tormented in my sleep; I may not rest,
  While love consumes my dreams in temper's fire.

Razed to my knees I raise my head and gasp,
  That yearning should present and like withhold
  So fine and fleeting form slipped from my grasp;
  Now held in mind what was once held in world.
  Her beauty is as lines laid on my soul,
  To bid my poem should pen no coarser goal.


-September 27-29,2005