Sonnet

No children;

Cold uncoils in the blood;

Science, true, not good

For you. So old,

Suddenly, or so young.

Lyric inside not to be sung.

Plug pulled, screen gone.

Sun out; mind

Bountiful, playing pain.

These are my children

In my head. Unbegotten.

This is to self-forget,

To have the future

Born forgotten.