In the distant calling sea sppeds forth a noble Trojan ship,
Aeneas wandering hopeless toward a beckoning nest.
The dove's sweet wings sing intention of her tender bleeding breast,
tender from Cupid's wounds she spoke these pains from flushed lip,
"O Aeneas, may I be the isle thou seek along this trip?"
The enamored hero nurtured here, the gods he tends to test,
for Dido swept his wandering heart to that blissful lover's rest;
blind to fate, he had not seen city roots so apt to rip.
Fate is a cruel master for a doubly indentured knave.
Her soul is cut in two, bowing to love, and burnt by fire;
A dream drew dear Aeneas far from the arms of his queen.
Love proved no protection to Dido, its devoutest slave;
A fleeting eternity exposed fueled an anger that lit her funeral pyre,
and fates cut thread as ships did tread on seas his mast cut to seams. |
Submission Name: A Sonnet for Separation
