Two Sonnets

The following two poems were written for a writing group that's been meeting off and on (mostly off) for the last couple of months. Our only instruction was to follow the sonnet format.

You know, it isn't death I mind so much
As dying slowly, like we do; each day
I watch firm skin droop down, and feel the touch
Of death in each strong bone's mortal decay.
I've heard them say that youth is wasted on
The young; perhaps its true, for if somehow
That energy and strength which now are gone
Returned, I would appreciate them now--
When I was twenty, I assumed when I
Was old (it seemed so far off then) I'd know
Somehow the answers and the reasons why;
Know how to be content with letting go
My yesteryears; I'm sixty-two and still
I do not know, and think I never will.


Since that your mighty rage, dear friend, still burns
Divinely in your might heart, while yet our brave
Achaen men are piereced by Trojan spears
Without your aid, at least send me instead!
Yea, I will go; upon my chest I'll place
Your plate, upon my arm I'll place your shield,
Upon my head I'll place your helm, and all the men
Of Troy shall flee before my face in fear, for I
Shall be Achilles now, at last. I fear for you,
For anger such as yours brings only suffering;
May heaven grant I bear it all for you, and if
It please the gods to punish such a rage, I pray
It light on me, for I stand in your place.