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All English Sonnets


I have travelled wildly on this Earth,
And treaded on the thorns of life a lot,
And traded gossip with light-hearted mirth,
But all my labor finally came to naught.

And nothing has stalked me all along,
And as I, on my present journey walk,
Premonitions come rushing in a throng,
And dot my sorry story, sad epoch.

And these are not ineligible scrawls,
Which children write on slates and rub away,
But unsure studded writings in the scrolls,
The story of my life’s dire decay-

Indelibly written, neatly done-
Accounting for my actions one by one.

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