Sonnet On Loss

You’ve gone again, and I sit granite faced,

Astare at this, the loss of my estate,

To count my grievings, seen as if afar

Through mist and hurt, and bramble patch and pain

Where life may only tear you at the briar

To leave blood-blackberry patches at the stain

Of every love, turned ash, or died, or went

Beyond the realm of touch, or argument.

So here I sit, and never look aside

But stare ahead, pretending life pretence,

And sleep, that blessed anaesthetic state

As life, but turned about by accident -

While I, unmoved, unmoving sit in fear

That grief will overwhelm me as I stare.

 

David Lewis Paget

Reviews

[TLK]

There's a rogue " in the third-from-bottom line -- this site can't handle em- or en- dashes (which Word might have automagically filled in for you).

I wonder whether "pretending life's pretence" would read better...?