Sonnet 41, Every Portico With Shades...

Every portico with shades from days born Every mood there is has a mirrored soul Each and any thought - a magnetic pole With you delays and makes you feel forlorn Life is like all this of torture and scorn Only of sufferance none to control Or a straw among straws a wholesome whole Which age bestows on until it's out worn Rockies with frames ties with a fractured bound Faraway places with a distance to see But inward colours of the spectrum self The ruins of the past lie hidden, not found An internal hint of something to be The texture of surfaces, a darkish delph.