Sonnet of Sorrow

A heart throbs in a melancholy rhythm,

As shyly as a whisper,

Lifeless like the winter,

No creatures stir in this prison.

Darkness impedes vision

Senses begin to whither,

Dull as rusty scissors.

Lying face down on coarse linen

No thoughts to entertain.

Every breath is laboured and weighted,

All else is mundane.

The sun has been obnubilated,

An abysmal refrain,

All the days are amalgamated.

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