Shall I be prisoner till my pulses stop
To hateful Love and drag his noisy chain...
Perfidious Prince, that keep me here confined,
Doubt not I know the letters of my doom...
(Sonnet XVIII)
-Edna St. Vincent Millay
4 comments:
hmmmm... not my idea of love.
I know, I liked the feel of it, the images of the words.
-Corby
Unrequited love, perhaps, when it won't quit despite the deprivation of what makes love love. It's like a prison, perhaps temporary and without bars, but it doesn't seem so at the time. I can relate to this, actually - I've been there a time or two.
ESVM rules, I think.
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