Deep In the Buried Heart

by tfawcus

Deep in the buried heart of all I hold,
the jumble of long years and memory,
are things once bought, not thinking what was sold
acquiring them, when simple things were free.

Though late, I've learnt to fossick and discard
these falsely valued baubles from life's hoard,
and, now I've started, find that it's not hard
to free myself from dross that I have stored.

Hid under lumber of the years I lost,
lie tattered vestiges of days like sighs,
when we gave all and did not count the cost;
when truths were still untarnished by small lies.

A good spring-clean is all it takes, it seems,
to rediscover long forgotten dreams.

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Photograph of an attic by Lee Morgan released under Creative Commons BY-NC-ND
Notes on form: The volta in this is placed in the second stanza, which is comparatively rare, but not without precedent, and I have deliberately started the sonnet with a trochaic inversion for emphasis. Otherwise it is mainly written in iambic pentameter.

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A Sonnet

Deep In the Buried Heart

by tfawcus

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