G. C. Jeffers

The heart that beats against the prison bars
of guilt and soured love and apathy
must fail in pain before the cold that mars
all teeming life, love, and harmony.

For hearts are flesh and blood and soul divine,
while cold metal is but the bones of earth
and unyielding in its rigid design,
stoic in countenance, sterile in birth.

The way of life is not of strength or might,
for such oft leads to pain and suffering.
Life is born of weakness exposed to light,
like wax beneath a flame or broken wings.

Submit then, to the dispassionate pain,
for every blow exists for our gain.

* * *

(the above poem is a sonnet written in the shakespearean tradition)