Sonnet 24/01/02                        DCL

A sonnet is a frozen tear, a kiss,
Preserved in fourteen lines. It is a pearl
Of layered thought, a gem too bright to miss
When set on page: One blossom, to unfurl
To perfect flower. As amber, sealed soul
In timeless tomb, it can show time long past,
Or hold this instant in it's grasp. The whole
Of heart upon one single page, to last
Beyond even our dreams, it seems a sip,
Distilled to essence. Refined within mind,
Lines sing sweet song, and rhymes in patterns slip,
To weave image that leaves mere vision blind.
A single chord, to resound in one's heart:
Echo of past that might our future start.