I've been indulging to Shakespeare's sonnets lately in order for slumber to seep in to my veins - like an anti dote to counter the day's and time's savages.
Nothing in particular really mends in place the strands of thoughts running through my head all at once. Except that, i'm trying to think back of this sonnet i've read back in high school or prolly back in my elementary days. I couldn't place exactly the Roman numeral for it but something hit me like a deja vu as i read thru this sonnet CXVI.... like a nerve was impinge somewhere, driving me in to a melancholic stupor. And here it goes...
Sonnet CXVI
(by Shakespeare)
Let me not
the marriage of true minds
Admit
impediments, love is not love
Which alters
when it alteration finds
Or bends with
the remover to remove
Oh no! It is
an ever-fixed mark
That looks on
tempests and is never shaken
It is the
star to every wandering bark
Whose worth's
unknown, although his height be taken
Love's not
Time's fool
Though rosy
lips and cheeks
Within his
bending sickle's compass come;
Love alters
not with his brief hours or weeks
But bears it
out even to the edge of doom
If this be
error and upon me prov'd
I never writ,
nor no man ever lov'd
Personally, i'm quite enjoying reading the verses. It tries to calm the waters deep down, smoothing something that has been dormant, those things left unsaid, things that are now part of the photographic memory lane.
This sounded corny, but of Thee may grant the wishes of my heart. And i guess, there's no stopping this time. :)
MAC
