Thursday, August 5, 2010

Spenserian Sonnet

It's not quite iambic through and through, but it is certainly pentameter.
.
.

The Termite

An infestation comes in many forms,
But mine is lone, a stagnant presence here.
The termite infiltrates our home and storms
The ramparts, chewing cud, a mix of fear
And choking hazards. Chowing down on tears,
He slowly dissolves bedrock, acid words
Abundant in his mouth. A buccaneer,
He commandeers our house, the ship, stewards
Our lives with glancing blows, quickly forwards
Hearts to knots in throats. At night I hear him,
A soft chewing beneath my bed. Coward
I am, I fix the floorboards and I dim
The lights. Each day is the same, Each night reeks
Of self-medication; I remain meek.

Justine Bienkowski

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