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Isabella McIlvaine, Grade 10
Notre Dame High School
Jean Halloran
Sonnet 20 (inspiration/favorite poem)


“The Beloved’s Betrayal”
Original Poem
by Isabella McIlvaine.

The skies have turned a turmoil grey,
The daffodils are wilting at your feet.
These fields should flourish in the warmth of May,
So why do they wither as if in June's heat?

Your eyes have robbed the sky of its hue,
Your lips are plump and curled upright,
With such a sparkling shade of blue,
I forget we meet here amidst the night.

When you take my hand with a tender touch,
I swear my heart inflates with air,
Then you smile as if this were nothing much,
And with a kiss you steal my cares.

Yet the oak tree that looms above our hearts,
Continues to groan from the bullying gale,
And as its supple boughs are torn apart,
I realize I've once before heard this tale.

A scream rips my throat with fear as its lace,
I fiercely twist away but you catch my wrist;
As your ginger locks bounce around your face,
You seem surprised that your touch I resist.

The sky's alight with chiseled lightning,
The daffodils fight against a wicked gust,
Your hand on mine is suddenly tightening,
And your eyes are alight with blood-lust.

A stake of terror then stabs my soul,
My heart grows heavier than a rock,
I hear the ominous Church bells toll,
As if my ending life is theirs to mock.

Oh, beloved! How terribly you had me deceived!
You brought me more joy than heaven ever could,
But with your fangs in my neck, all my blood is retrieved,
And you leave me as lifeless as a splintered piece of wood.


“The Beloved Traitor”
Inspired Poem – Sonnet 20
by Isabella McIlvaine.

I lie you upon a bed of lifeless flowers;
Beside your sunken face they seem robust.
My lips are still stained by your broken trust,
And my heart ridden of all its dastardly powers.
I find that my hell-damned soul now cowers,
My mind finally clear of the cloud of blood-lust,
Yet my body is adhered to this spot by the rust,
Born from lingering at your side for hours.
Oh, my love! Why had it be you I deceived?
Why did you not run at the sight of my fangs?
What sort of love did you wish be achieved,
In getting to know me, whom hell overhangs?
Now I am paralyzed, awaiting and aggrieved,
Until the sun arises, until of life I am relieved.