This poem was published in Britain's New Statesman magazine. The challenge was to compose a sonnet that
would still make sense if the lines were read in reverse order, i.e line 14, then 13, and so on. The sonnet, in
its classic, Shakespearean style, is my favorite literary form, not just in poetry but of all writing. One day,
I'll add a section about sonnets to this site, and maybe add some more of my own. Meanwhile, I offer you this:
Where once were lovers
Where once were lovers, rarely are there friends.
We now despise the things that we held dear.
So this, my love, is where our journey ends.
We are no longer what we were, I fear.
Of any pain, noneís sharper than love lost.
The caring heart must needs be raw exposed.
When loveís untrue, how terrible the cost!
When love was new, the risks were undisclosed.
Each soul evolves its individual need.
As many hearts, as many loves to give.
No one can tell where their own path may lead.
There is no rule by which we all must live.
This, evíry jilted lover longs to know.
When love has ended, where is there to go?