Emily Boldt
Italian Sonnet
Thoughts Upon Death’s Door
I spat with enmity!
This wasn’t how I planned…
I was stone-faced as I watched her cry.
I felt rather unmanned (1),
sitting across from her, proclaiming death,
mine, I so carefully WANTED
but, apparently, I would STILL keep my breath
though I wish it could be forgotten…
I wish I could just fade,
I am so exhausted,
but I do NOT want to admit I am afraid,
afraid that into it I will get sucked,
afraid that I won’t recover!
I’ve made my mark, do I want to get pulled,
do I really want to try being under
the weight of all the crushed
most dreams, some thoughts, and a vague scattering of hopes
that have been down mushed
with very little hope of tricking them with strokes
actually reprieving (2) them with promised
hopes, thrills, and joys?
Concealing death until it destroys!
- Unmanned: Without the physical presence of people in control.
- Reprieve: A respite from impending punishment.