a certain indefinite number of Petrarchan “sonnets” (10)
“myself was turned whichever way her face”
IN Fortune’s jaunty cap, I was a feather
myself was turned whichever way her face
on Fortune’s lid, I was a pennate grace
whither she went, to there we went together
in pleasant climes, or in the stormy weather
where she was, there also was my place
but then she went away without a trace
and bereft my point of erstwhile tether
her gaudy garments strewn upon the ground
to be trampled underfoot by passing trains
thus born I was upon the breeze alone
waywardly wafting here and there, in vain
I sought a place to rest my hollow bones
but air must make my bed until again
this feather on the breath of God blows home
Not sure sounds like a love sonnet to me and somehow that feeling of desire does sort of turn one into a feather leaving your bones hollow and a feeling of emptiness even when it is not unrequited there is still that sense that there should be more something deeper something besides ….it is like intuitively we know that this love we are receiving from another did not come from them they are not its source certainly they may be a wonderful vessel and even not hold back but we just know this isn ‘t all. So we continue our search hopefully not casting off their love or being shaken when our love is cast off but just accepting a change in the current hoping it will bring you to the Sea! 🌊