#attempt at a sonnet
I'll never try this again. This form doesn't suit at all.
The sea sees an owl in the sand,
whose head was pointed to the sun
its feet were tangled to a firebrand;
portending the ending, half measures to be gone
where empty thoughts might its mesage land
speaking of incarnations, hopping bir'd's foot
by the ankle severed to the shore
to proclaim between the sun, and sea no visible dispute;
smells the flower a scorpion's pain
charactered uneven with past's ages of lore.
Crushing the sea, the owl should not try
over the waves is the corpse's nest,
commingled past and futures reality, die
foaming owl, not reaching the billow's ebbing breast.