Sonnet 202

Dim candle light, scrap paper and my pen,
Engrossed in somber memories of the past;
Soft flickering glow, the darkness here does fend,
Until brave dawn shall rescue me at last.
Your silhouette alive in changing shapes
Slips slowly through penumbras in the room,
I drop my pen, now frantic for escape,
But where to run within this umbrous tomb?
Why must you haunt me in the still of night;
What refuge left that is but mine alone?
Can thought or prayer expunge your visage quite;
For what transgression must I still atone?
Faint strains of dawn! Redemption in the east!
‘Til night returns, and shadows rise to feast.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

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