The object and the author of my love
Are both the same--and he has all my heart
And chooses those my heart may take hold of,
And those to whom belongs the smallest part.
'Tis you, the one called love, who loved to death
And life again we tired, unlovely men
Who give us an example for each breath
And heartbeat on the road that twists and bends
Called love and sacrifice--for we, like you
Are meant to love with all we have and are.
And you, in all your glory, standing true,
Are love beyond the heavens and the stars.
Your perfect love displayed: you took our place--
You, who are the emptiness of space.
postscript
For NaPo day 18, I give you the final installment in my crown of sonnets. The final sonnet for the crown will be the actual crown sonnet itself, made up of the first and last lines of each of the 14 sonnets I've written so far. This last one, actually, is probably my least favorite. But since I hope to revisit it later anyway, I won't worry too much about polishing. Thanks for reading!