The Dusk of Day's Remains, sonnet Options

[heartsong7]

The Dusk of Day’s Remains

His coming home alive was only half
the battle. Acting like he cared at all
for anyone or thing, to simply laugh,
was hell. Awakened, crouching in the hall,
not knowing where he was or why he should
survive, he raised the gun, and felt the scar
where once had been a cheek; then slowly stood.

By morning he'd retrieved his old guitar,
a scratched-up, string-less wreck he vowed to save.
I watched him recreate an instrument.
As countless hours of renovations gave
him purpose, he was peaceful and content.
He strummed his own renditions. Those refrains
still echo in the dusk of day's remains.

[Mary Boren]

Great to see you back here, Sue!

This lovely sonnet has metamorphed into a real keeper since I first saw it. Not to suggest that the first draft wasn't, but as Merlin says, "a little polish never hurts -- look what it does for shoes." Congrats on an excellent job of accepting input and applying tweaks without sacrificing its original raw appeal. I like the effect of the enjambment in the octave -- it kinda lurches along hesitantly as someone with a wounded body and spirit might do -- then smoothes out in the sestet, reflecting a hard-won resolution, and culminating with that beautifully poetic title phrase. The dusk of day's remains evokes an image as far removed from conflict as east from west.

Enjoy that grandbaby's visit, and then let's meet here often, OK? I have really missed you.

Mary