"Well you are worth more than the man I am, sad and in love..."

I wrote something tonight. I think the idea came to me yesterday. It is based off of one of Aesop's Fables, though I admit to having entirely recontextualized it. I haven't put it on the website yet, partially because Geocities is blocked by the Internet here, and partially because I am still somewhat uncertain as to whether I should put it in a relatively well-established section, or use it to start a new one altogether. But I guess that's really what the poem's about in the first place...

Anyways, a sonnet. Strange semi-Spenserian, semi-Shakespearian rhyme-scheme. The title is the ephemeral "fifteenth line" that I really wish I could have included, but alas: my desire to write sonnets precludes that desire.

"... The Answer That You Give, I Will Attend" -9/1/06

Oh tell me, Phoebus, this I have in hand

And trembling keep thus clutched unto my breast

So long without the sun and without rest

Is there a hope that it has strength to stand

Much less attempt the flight it does demand?

This bird, oh Phoebus, underneath my cloak

That flaps its wings to hear your shining name

Is its small heart too strong for me to tame?

Its quivering wings too strong to e'er be broke,

Except perhaps by any word you spoke?

This question, Phoebus, does on you depend:

Does this small life deserve to live or end?

"Marking miles of martyrs

Of better men, of better men than me

And I wanted to tell you, I just didn't know how"

-L