Sonnet 202

Dim candle light, scrap paper and my pen,
Surrounded by grim 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 quiet 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 set to feast.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

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