bill nomnom
New member
Writing a sonnet, to speak my own mind.
To toss and turn, in sleepless nights of pain.
Dreaming nay dreading what has come to bind.
The past, the present, of which has been my bane.
To long has it been since those time of glee,
The dancing, cheering, ranting and raving.
Said that time shall not pass, if only that be,
All that's left now is a wood engraving.
The bright moon was high on the fateful night.
Trees whispering in the wind as we raged.
Shouting, yelling of what had come to Highten.
Twas to late for returns or to turn page.
What was done is done in our discontent
And has hurt us both, but to what extent......
To toss and turn, in sleepless nights of pain.
Dreaming nay dreading what has come to bind.
The past, the present, of which has been my bane.
To long has it been since those time of glee,
The dancing, cheering, ranting and raving.
Said that time shall not pass, if only that be,
All that's left now is a wood engraving.
The bright moon was high on the fateful night.
Trees whispering in the wind as we raged.
Shouting, yelling of what had come to Highten.
Twas to late for returns or to turn page.
What was done is done in our discontent
And has hurt us both, but to what extent......