I tried to experiment a little with the sonnet form. Let me know what you think.
The psyche tingles motionless.
Forever still, its whispered plea;
Impassioned thoughts–surcease to be,
Till I, lethargic, blankly fall.
To fall–the mere word beckons me
To act, to set my thoughts askew;
To live–to blithely be, to do,
Till psyche buckles, faints, and tears.
Of tears, my battered psyche dreams,
To vivify and calm itself.
The calm before the storm, it seems
To argue nicely–Lethe, my eyes shed!
May psyche fluctuate extremes,
And so e’er live, else deathward swoon.