This sonnet comes from my past, when I frequented the wonderful writing community of Xenith.net and its forums. It does note count as one of my weekly sonnets, I just want to show how well I use to write sonnets. Indeed, this was one of my best.
“A Sick man Reading Shakespeare”
When words become colors and begin to
Soar in the sky, then you know it’s happened;
The seeds that were planted have rainbowed flu-
idly and precipitate and begin
To find us waiting here eager for them,
With our heads tilted back and mouths agape.
Magnanimously they land and then blend
Into our skin, our bones and down the nape
Of our curiously crooked necks, then
Permeating into our flesh they find
Our hearts open, close and open again,
Atrophying to seven eighths time.
Then, crescendo, they burst into faux flame;
They save us from being one in the same.