I rounded the corner onto your street,
my legs flying and my eyes on fire.
My mind racing on with how we would meet.
I heard nothing but my inner choir,
singing frantically what you might say,
crescendoing at that intense delight
when our eyes lock after such delay.
I ran my whole life to get to this night.
But now I freeze, my feet stop, at your door.
With my hand poised high and balled in a fist.
Silent, I pray you see: I’ve been through war.
What if I’m not the same one you have missed?
Coming back is all I have left to do,
So I bend my wrist and hope you let me through
- Usually form poems are really not my style, but I had to write this sonnet for a class and ended up wanting to work on it more.