Black Sonnet
Final sonnet in forthcoming collection Two Hundred Soul Sonnets
The black sonnet had not yet made the scene—
In this case, black does not refer to skin—
But instead the time that joy grew frail and lean
And grief first lectured hope on running thin.
No cheerful notes drifted from gifted strings!
No colorful verse flowed from talent’s tongue!
The muse stepped barefoot over fearful things!
And every song went flat, remained unsung!
Pages caught what they could not well afford,
Each measured foot lost itself in darkness.
Echo moved in air, resounding no chord.
Names of faithful voices lost all sharpness.
Thus my heart did start to sink down on it—
My soul had composed her first black sonnet.
Linda's Literary Home 