Sonnets are meant to be about romance

and love.

You know? All that's good.

But why should form be contained,

can one not make love to the page

in their own expression?

I can,

and will.

Imagination like a dodgems car,

wild yet bumpy.

And I guess that's what love is,

you can try to steer in the right direction

but there will always be obstacl...

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Some folk are born with knowledge of their goal.
I've met them, though I'm not like that myself;
I'm wandering through life, a placid soul,
content to leave adventures on the shelf.
I've loved and lived without a way to know
the field where I should strive to be the best:
to pan for gold, or be a CEO,
or cure disease, or conquer Everest;
        and likewise, you're a Poohstick ...

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Among those born as humans on the earth
within their mind the mirrored planet lies:
the universe contained behind their eyes,
more tangible with every day since birth.
Within, each place you love is held for you
perfected; every friendship dwells therein;
and if you dare, a thousand tales begin,
and if you close your eyes you'll see it's true.
        Within that place a forest ...

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They say my future follows on your past,
commanded not to love you by the wise.
They say he never truly lives who lies
a captive still, and by your charms held fast:
your warmth was torn by chilly morning air,
through daytime heat your image in my eye
would ever grow, would wane, would never die,
and with the night, you’d once again be there.
       You took my life, and took aw...

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This moment, I am God upon this town.
I compass every window spread below:
each pinprick point in total looking down
a pattern only overseers know.
I feel the human flow and ebb each minute
perceiving both with every passing breath;
each lighted room has home and hoping in it,
each darkening a sleeping, or a death.
        And nothing, nothing makes it wait to darken;
        ...

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