Sonnet 436


The moment words were writ, under she fell
So deep within his magnetising soul
As he was heaven, so was there no hell;
Their stories born anew out of the old.
A breath, a touch, a word, or just a thought
From books resigned to rest upon a shelf
Prevented pages saying what they ought;
Instead, their voices spoke the things they felt.
Two characters the same yet far away;
Their distance until now so unforeseen;
Together they now write themselves a play;
Providing that they speak the things they mean.

No banishment be cast nor fools unheard;
While truth and passion speaks in written word.



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