SONNET NUMBER THREE
The Singer

The singer begins with starting breath,
The birth an abstract silhouette.
Both beginnings in perfect balance,
A butterfly with fake falcon talons                
          Help buttress up a mis-placed peace.
New lessons learned upon release,
Soft beauty granted floating by,
Still germane indeed if it catch the eye
And open up a whole new world.

The song sits aware, no time remaining.
Cold console flickers once the switch is thrown.
Pressure building without constant draining,
Explosions valid from the force alone.

Explosions need be sweet to contradict
Pale pithy pathos we self-inflict.
For no heated malice can endure for long,
Betwixt the singer, and the singer's song.