When misty twilight shifts to midnight black
then I fear to hear her mournful sighing
outside the window, cries of “bring me back”–
whispers first, but then intensifying.
Who is this spirit whose cries so haunt me?
What darkness of the soul fights through the night,
flutters about a flame as if to plea,
fleeing as dawn awakes, sheds rosy light,
wondrous–I see but her ghostly image
in her darkling visitations to me,
confusing, the purpose of the scrimmage
of our spirits, hers dead, but not set free.
Still, now I know when next she comes again
the light will fade for me–not why, but when.
For dVerse, where Björn has asked us to write a sonnet. I find sonnets very difficult to write. This one follows the Shakespearean rhyme scheme, and I hope the meter, too, but with an added twist of gothic sensibility.