Sunday Sonnet (Rhyme-Free and on a Monday), #22, 2015

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[Image sourced from Pinterest]

A sip of wine, moment of time in which

to craft a line, some verse, words full worthy

of being read: consumed by strangers’ eyes.

A small intimacy this, a new trust

and confidence of hopes, desires all too

ephemeral.  Mind weary, lids heavy –

to sleep perchance to dream – but how far those

dreams are from tangible reality.

This craft can be a task too weighty when

looked at with a bird’s eye view, or the owl’s

sagacious vision.  Pen hovers, trembles

in an enfeebled hand, drops to paper,

and the creative adventurer sighs:

glass to lips, numbness dulls senses; failure.

[Copyright © N R Nolan 2015]