My Love (a sonnet)
I
My love is a thorn among fragile life,
Too sharp, too intense for the common good.
He pricks and brings me joy like no one could,
His soothing words cut through me like a knife.
I sometimes wish that my speech had that power,
Yet I am but a simple budding flower
Who finds bliss only through love’s intense strife.
II
My love is a wolf watching over me,
Who jealously keeps my heart in his jowls
And fills my heart with raging, hungry howls.
No matter where I go I only see
His ever growing passion and blood-lust.
I’ve worked so hard that I might keep his trust,
For fear that one day he might set me free.
III
My love is all the shadows of the night
Who holds me closely and consoles my fears,
Who wraps around me and conceals my tears
And guards my eyes from harmful, blinding light.
And though the darkness isn’t understood,
It brings me contentment like non else could.
Perception of what’s wrong is really right.
