Thursday Sonnet: Storm

Because the storm of love is raging
On a chest too young to claim
It has weathered storm and rain
I build a house and, in it, staging
Pantomimes of rigid bliss,
I tell myself and tell myself
I bite no suffering, till the wealth
Of words I speak fills the abyss.
But my mind comes falling while
The House of Lies has got no roof,
I speak the words which break the dial
In the equinox of truth,
I am the fist that bleeds denial
Through the fingers of my youth.