365 Sonnets is completed! While there be no more new posts, feel free to read the sonnets and comment! :)

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Friday, August 28, 2009


A lonely pair of lifelong enemies
sit, glaring in their tank, despondently.
Soon snapping claws are closed with rubber bands:
the water sprays; the buyers hide their hands.

From liquid to the dryness of a bag,
the foes grow weak, but ever, ever mad.
Transported to a fridge, they’re stuffed inside.
They sit at zero Celsius with wine.

The morning comes. The fridge light flickers on.
Removed from their abyss, they greet the warmth.
But all too soon they greet a greater one –
and boil in the flames of Hell, to death.

But if they’re lucky, they’ll be au gratin,
and if they’re not, they’re torn apart,
                                                                      to bits.


A word is dead
When it is said,
Some say.

I say it just
Begins to live
That day.

- Emily Dickinson

Thanks, Wordle!