A dying planet fraight with life,
a house with all the children gone
still stands more noble than the knife
that wounds the dark with break of dawn.
The wound stays open, spilling forth -
with all the glamour of true north -
the dearest blood with which was paid
the fitful waters fit to trade.
Yet how much more will it still cost?
The bride-price meant for mind and flesh
demands a sore unseasoned thresh
of sapling strong, who bore the frost -
well-meant by the diverted rays -
to be now felled by glory's blaze.
YOU ARE READING
Star Trek: The Original Sonnets
PoetryEvery Monday at http://wondertalesprovidence.blogspot.com I post a reaction to an episode from Star Trek: The Original Series. Thematically inspired by certain episodes, some posts have verses which I have adapted into a series of Pushkin sonnets. E...
