Until My Love Is Found

Again I sit in ashes cold and deep,
my heart pierced by his voice, his touch, his eyes,
the gown and shoes I barely miss, yet weep;
ash-smudged, I fear his love will ebb and die.
But dare I hope a seed can grow to reap,
my heart to heal and hope allowed to rise;
may thunder drown my stepsisters’ bold lies,
and may he take me home and there to keep.

She walked into the room a stellar sight.
In fleeting hours she smiled, my heart was bound;
a glow, a radiance lit up my night.
She fled my arms, at twelve the clock did sound,
glass shoe abandoned in her pell-mell flight.
I will not rest until my love is found.

OK, so there’s this sonnet thing L.L. Barkat dreamed up over at TweetSpeak poetry, and she cajoled poet Angela O’Donnell to do a post called “Glass Slipper Sonnets” (you should read Angela’s Saint Sinatra and Other Poems; it’s good). I tried the sestina form of poetry, and survived the experience. I thought I’d give the sonnet form a try.

As it turns out, there are two main sonnet forms – the Shakespearian (English) sonnet (three four-line stanzas followed by a couplet) and the Petrachan (Italian) sonnet, with an eight-line stanza and a six-line stanza (Angela has all the details in her post). I decided to try the Italian form.

And, yes, it’s all about Cinderella.

Photograph: Cinderella by Alexandra Lilit.