::v_voltaire takes the stage:: Bonus points to all those who pointed out that my sonnets aren't actually sonnets. What can I say? I prefer iambic quadrameter to iambic pentameter. It gives it more of a driving force. Anyway, only one more season to go. Expect the last one in summer. (When else?) ::v_voltaire exits the stage::
I can't believe that hint of green
Is poking out amidst the white.
I can't believe that hope, unseen,
Is visible in my mind's sight.
The snow reflects the sun, too bright—
Too hot! Ice cracks! I shield my eyes!
Soft tendrils grow to greet the light:
Hope's birth, but born at such a price!
Buried there, 'neath shards of ice,
My old heart lies so still and frozen.
A generous, tragic sacrifice
To birth the new love I have chosen.
Old love may die, this much is true,
To lend its strength to love anew.