The new day dawns. A blank page is the sky.
Each soul on Earth wearily sheds the night
And, taking pen in hand scrawls long and high
Across this bare canvas with all his might
His own clandestine journey through this life.
Each man believes himself to be alone
And Loneliness, wielding a sharpened knife,
With searing pain through flesh it reaches bone.
A moment wasted is a grain of sand
Lost to the immense desert of the past.
A moment tasted, a pearl in the hand,
Each shining memory will forever last.
This is a poem I have been working on for some months. It was originally a Shakespearean sonnet (hence the meter), however I had trouble finding a closing couplet. There is a distinct contrast in styles between the octave and the closing four lines. I think both parts of the poem have their own message to convey.