Halfway through, the energy sags,
Emotions swell but the writing lags.
Unsure what I've got, at the half way mark,
The road ahead bleak, and equally dark.
At the start it was dark, I'm still finding my way,
To continue down the path, I've little, to no, say.
Its set in stone, the 90 sonnets sprint,
Doesn't matter my heart is frozen, or blooming like spring.
I had pictured on this milestone, I would celebrate and rest,
Feel no compulsion to pen a sonnet, brush off the sprint in jest.
But now that I'm here, all I think of is completing this mission,
Can I start questioning what's the purpose, with your permission?
45 days of daily wooing, still I've failed to catch your eyes,
45 more days I'm ready to woo, after that it would be only goodbyes.
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