Flaming Tongues [sonnet]
In all my many tangletimes of love,
I never have relinquished all control.
In sensing peril’s pall (as I adjudged),
I never pledged the last ounce of my soul.
God knows I wanted all the tongues of fire
which beckoned me in flames to form a whole.
Yet never would I give what was required;
(I hadn’t met the other magnet pole).
Latterly, I’ve doubted I would meet her —
though every cell and atom reaches out
through the world to see if there’s a creature
secreted by some random crazy cloud.
Perhaps no human flesh can fill this space;
and all I’ll feel is death’s dark cold embrace.
© 2011, Alan Morrison
The Naked Troubadour 