My first sonnet of the century

[mhoram100]

(not yet titled)

Too late comes courage to the cowardly lips
Intoxification gives no respite
The spinning earth, the turning year that night
Changes nothing. Passion into slumber slips
Six years on guard for love only to fail
The fortress fast with no treasure inside
It's forges cold and cookfires banked. I abide
In empty halls, the dusty air grows

Comments

[cassiopia]

Just lovely. :)

This line: "The spinning earth, the turning year that night"

Puts this in my head:
"What was it about that night?
Connection, in an isolating age..."

Very well done.

[mhoram100]

Som construction notes:

I think the second line needs rewriting. Google and Merriam Webster have me doubting that intoxification is even a word, and chewing up six syllables on a single word seems greedy.

Originally I wanted to use 'ignite' in the third quatraine somewhere, in response to the cold forges/banked cookfire image. I'll have to find some other home for ignition. I wonder if 'fresh lit' would work in place of newborn. There aren't any real birthing/aging images for it to tie to, so it's a good candidate for substitution.

[mirandir]

I'll start with something good. This bit really struck me