THE SHADOW - OF PAIN

Shadow Sonnet XI

The roses wither, droop and dry
Their color grows intense
A sagging sunset colored sigh
Rot sweetened, dusty scents

The candles melt and sputter
Wax grows transparent, warm
Runs like melting butter
Assumes a different form

I danced on polished hardwood floors
I danced on breaths of air
Swallowed the sound of closing doors
And came to this stock-still chair

Pooled wax hardens without thought or sound
Rose petals scatter like poems on the ground


©Edwina Peterson Cross