Feel oxygen starvation. Cosmos mumbles
when hands of Atlas are too numb from stiffness.
The hauberk of the stormy cloud with rumbles
slips off his back. I am the only witness
how skies sit down and sift the gloom thought pebbles.
They long for long and earthy games with sleekness
of clammy body laid with hopes to cobble
the lonely heart. To heave a sigh with meekness
the body, drop-by-drop, unwraps the bosom,
concealed in tided lips of ocean’s ceiling.
Such way, ballades are wishful for rhymed music,
such way the timbre of the bell would pass on
the gossips of the wilted day in lilies.
The sonnet lights the written scene for musing.
18 September 2009