David L. Wilson

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Sonnet 3

I entered his home as my voice was his,
Thy lowly room where he dwelt in ruin,
Thy Cats now roam here and as I see this,
I find his chair is now placed in my room.

Sonnet 2

Nothing is wrong with me is wrong with me,
To "Know Thyself" is to pray for sweet death,
For thy chameleon's strength is what I flee,
Vast tundra my only friend till last breath,

Sonnet 4

"Why are thee crying?" She then said to me,
Thou tales of angels my heart can not bear.
My old soul corrupts, decayed form indeed;
My dead eyes turn to dust from her bright stare


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7/27/2021 5:02:13 AM #