Sonnet 48

Posted in quatorzain by maggie on 2009/10/05
Sonnet 48

This moment will be put in its own word
without my help.  My own's not good enough
to best that diagnosis worst inferred,
sent off to storage with my other stuff.

This expectation will have its own moves
regardless of my readiness to serve.
I'm nothing, that's all my intention proves,
one wonders why I even had the nerve.

We take it as it comes.  We have no choice
except to make it up from what it's of,
then hold our breath in hopes it finds its voice.

Except I never saw that deal as mine,
nor cared to guard its tongue as my own turf —
What can't be seen's so easy to define.

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