Black clouds loom o’er craggy mount
Eager to dump their sodden load
As putrid water spews from rusty fount
My aching heart doth indeed forebode
Nears the hour my heart should burst 'n cause my life to cease?
How shall I mend the damage done to thee thus far?
When shall my restless thoughts find lasting peace,
And wounded heart heal raw 'n aching scars?
From whence doth anger come?
A question asked a thousand times,
I implore that it not be ad-infinitum,
Pray God decree my soul sublime,
Anger...old friend that protects this rueful soul,
May you be used wisely, until some day I’m whole.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
A nice use of the sonnet form. I also like the non-traditional subject matter. Good work. I give this one a 9.