All English Sonnets
I deal in whispers, and in whispers sing,
No more the loudness of words for me,
No more my fingers fiddling on the string,
No more for me, the noisy vagrant space.
No more the chanting praises of each deity,
No more of howling , wailing in self-pity,
No more longing for favors still refused,
No more repentance for the time unused.
No more of gilded, golden, grand pity splendor,
Which ended up in pieces, shattered,
And let me write panting in dismay,
But foe me only muted silent wonder.
At allness of your person, all divine,
And thirsty fleeting, emptiness of mine.