Sonnets...

So my thoughts have a final resting place
And poems are the common crypt
Where remnant psyche has some space
To linger after souls have dripped
Onto the compendium of time
Cased inside the hardcover safe
Of measured syllable and rhyme,
For coherency is as a waif
Still searching for a stable home
Much like a wayward angel flight
Lost over heaven's aerodrome,
Communing with the muse one night,
All on behalf of a mortal man
Just hoping for his verse to scan.