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in the dead of night
a sonnet
“I discovered to my joy, that it is life, not death,
that has no limits.”—Gabriel García Márquez
the stench of death compasses me about,
his cloak of darkness robbing fast my light;
he chokes his victims in the dead of night,
leaving the whole world withering in doubt.
his belch stank in my face this very day,
ere i could camouflage my kith and kin;
how helplessly i watched him make his win,
snatching my centenarian friend away.
how sullen, now, the faces of my pride,
swollen by emptiness, silent as stone!
did not my Lord death's medicine atone,
in dying Himself that, himself, death has died?
sweet patience lend me, Lord, Thy shed blood sworn
to fit me for heav'n's Resurrection Morn.
© Copyright 2023 November 23
by Clyve A. Bowen♫
“I discovered to my joy, that it is life, not death,
that has no limits.”—Gabriel García Márquez
the stench of death compasses me about,
his cloak of darkness robbing fast my light;
he chokes his victims in the dead of night,
leaving the whole world withering in doubt.
his belch stank in my face this very day,
ere i could camouflage my kith and kin;
how helplessly i watched him make his win,
snatching my centenarian friend away.
how sullen, now, the faces of my pride,
swollen by emptiness, silent as stone!
did not my Lord death's medicine atone,
in dying Himself that, himself, death has died?
sweet patience lend me, Lord, Thy shed blood sworn
to fit me for heav'n's Resurrection Morn.
© Copyright 2023 November 23
by Clyve A. Bowen♫
Published 23rd Nov 2023
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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