Sonnet 1

It is with joy that my pain has expressed
Some hope of its demise beyond my death.
Do I fair well as farewells are compressed?
Within the living bonds from breath to breath?

For having much endured and pain and hope
What wages grow in my eternal chest?
If pain, with death, are not both to elope
It is a crown for man to yearn for rest!
Yet one would be from hope reliev’d at best,

If no such promis’d bliss should spur from it.
As age endures a crown upon its pains,
Which heart endures in hope a shining pit?

Are all farewells in its fair well in chains?
Think not that I complain, although I must…
For hope and pain stay firm from breath to dust.