The meaning of the last 2 lines of the sonnet refer to time passing as pages in a book. We want to read on to find out what's in store, but when we do we also lose the moments of our life. Ink in this case is a metaphor for the beating heart, false hope and the inexorable passage of time. The words lead on to the certainty of conclusion and the words, like life, just go running on. We all have the prospect of getting old and finding ourselves in the state described in the body of the poem.

I like your poem and it is far better than much English contemporary verse. Quite an achievement for someone with another native language. You have wriien your verses in what we call quatrains - four lines with a rhyme scheme ABAB. If you are keeping to a classical form you also probably need to attend to the Rhythm of the verse. The most natural Rhythm of the English language is iambic - that is two syllables with a short, then long stress "di- daaaa". If you look at my sonnet you will see it uses the classical shakesperian Rhythm of iambic pentameter - or five pairs of double syllables (ten syllables per line). A syllable is a signle sound - such as "go" (one syllable) or "going" (two syllables) - go + ing. etc

I also think you need to tighten up the odd words. I do not know if you literally mean "He saw the way he was doomed to die" ? If you are saying that you began life in a bad way then you are conveying a very excessive state of badness. You could alternatively say "He saw the many ways that he may die" That indicates that the speaker is imaginative and scheming - really evil, but frighteningly resourceful.

The line "But in his love he spared my living" the word "living" does not rhyme with "Heaven". You could say "But by his love he did me govern" or "But by his love I was forgiven"

You may try to write a poem in the popular 'slam' form. Slam poetry owes its origins to the punk era and 'hip-hop'. They are written to be perfomed in public and carry a distinctive beat - often with a chorus. Your poem reminds me of a slam poem I have written.

Happy versifying!

Oliphant

PS: Private Eye is a popular satirical magazine which contains some small adds from lonely people and adverts (ads) for flat sharing.


The Undertaking

It's the little things that make life worthwhile
Like the fading thought of a lost love's smile.
Or the new one's knock, my very next case
When she comes to lodge, from some sinning place.
There's deals for real, in my
South London, hideaway.

I've this classified ad in Private Eye
Offering ‘one to share’ for dirt cheap rent
I can't be choosy, 'cause I terrify
Which is sad really, as I'm so well meant
There's ordeals for real, in my
South London, hideaway.

A fresh flatmate needs to find their bearings
It's fun at first to talk around sharing
Those intimate times that make nice pairings
In a physical world so unsparing.
There's ideals for real, in my
South London, hideaway.

It's the little things that make life worthwhile
Like the fading thought of a lost love's smile.
Or her face in its place when saying grace
A soul on a roll to it’s last embrace.
There's squeals for real, in my
South London, hideaway.

Bearing God’s testament's not what it was
Brotherhood's gone, door-steppings not easy
Nobody cares about the great big because,
Or Heaven’s sacrifice, prayered by frenzy.
There's zeal for real, in my
South London, hideaway.