Begun Wednesday 2nd February 2011, ended only in death.
Tough this lark, and not really such a ‘lark’-
to move on and leave early selves behind.
At periods of pain, they stand to mark,
their faces sterner, rougher, finer-lined
with each dead end encountered up to here.
Move on! Keep moving on! But I, no doubt,
have precious few mes left, and so I fear
to live a life filled with laments of without,
or one where I’m found wanting (you and I).
And that’s the problem with this ‘love again’:
How can you now settle for a stone lie
when you once danced true atop a mountain?
So by my self I am, by yours I’m not:
the closest to perfection I e’er got.
(N.B. The lines set indented and emphasised in italics (11-12) are as so to indicate, for they compose the sonnet's question, that the iambics have been reversed; the other 12 lines operate on opposite iambic pentameter to these two).