Monday Sonnet: TS

A different kind of failure, Eliot said
Of poetry – and won the Nobel prize.
He preached humility, so no surprise.
Hence, from under the shadow of his red
Rock shall I weave a rather smaller failure.
Or wait – a greater one, which failed to gain
At least awards, much less eternal fame?
I am not Hamlet either, nor would say your
Chair’s burnished; and there’s but one thing I’d ask.
Speak to me. Why do you never speak. Speak.
It is as if you feared me. That’s as bleak
As April. Verse meant to remove my mask
Has made you put on yours. A different kind
Of failure – eyes that last would watch me blind.