Ears hear, muffled, as like deaf sounding tides,
my footsteps, eels along the ocean's floor
trudging among through this dim corridor,
grim, shapeless and forlorn my rest resides.
While nestled and lonely a figure hides,
and light without wings, emerge though the door
so heavy with mournful stone grave tears, your
eyes watch blindly as sensing haunting glides.
Shuffling gazes, so quick forgets this
and ghostly memoirs rise up as if
presence alone, naive, could conjure
sleeping bones to dance for eyes whom miss,
and these earthy winds could soften the stiff
yet while deaf he shivers, as ghostly I stir.
Author notes
my first attempt at an Italian Sonnet
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