Sonnet XIX: Turn the page!

A panoply of words and chest of love,

A tumbling gratitude for bygone days,

To expiate those thousand years thereof, 

And restitute the awful, wretched ways

That bore the brunt of dwindling passion's rage,

And distorted what comfort meant to me.

I stand at crossroads, still to turn the page,

Musing what is and what was meant to be!
Come, save me, lest I wither in remorse
And hear me out for all I have to say
And though your love might just have run it course
Your tenderness for me cannot betray

That while it was, it was a fiery spark

And when not, it would strive to quell the dark