User:Joe Spencer/Sonnet: 86
From Feast upon the Word (http://feastupontheword.org). Copyright, Feast upon the Word.
O commanding silence, hanging as a veil between this poet’s words and his destined bride, my second birth is just to pass through hale thy murky waters to rise again, once died. But such a current as thou most surely hast a language speaks, if only babbling noise; and I would feign derive from thy coursings fast the words that come in silence, stand in thy poise. So speak, commanding silence, of thy blessed fount, and fill this calling mouth with fiery tongue; my Muse awaits beyond thy sting (praise that mount): though wet, I shall up there sing all that’s sung. I see thy muted silence by my word, thy coming by my climax, thee: absurd.