silence parched and
depleted even of rage,
refutations to give to death’s
denial of the eternal–
which shiver stands distilled, concentrated, cold?
Today I used yesterday’s NaPoWriMo prompt, to make Shakespeare’s sonnets our poetic inspiration. I wanted to do a Golden Shovel poem–I like them, and I haven’t done one in a long time. The line I used was from Shakespeare’s Sonnet XIII, “and barren rage of death’s eternal cold?”
It’s his birthday!
What fools, what fools, what fools these mortals be
what fools to mimic riches glitter fame
what fools to in those masks refinement see
what fools embraceth folly without shame
Where every likeness hath its own deceit
wherein it looketh match to opposite
pretended twin to answer in repeat
the shoe that forceth toes and heel to fit
With voices like to painted artifice
with jaws that stretcheth into polished teeth
with promises that proveth meaningless
duplicity a smile cached underneath
And will the masquerade yet come undone?
I fear the jester killeth us with fun.
Shakespeare knew a few things about fools. With admiration, and as part of my April Fools series, my first ever sonnet.