Thursday, January 19, 2006

Sonnet #27

What respite for the ever restless soul
To whom shall it turn and be granted peace?
Nowhere to hide, no nook or crack or hole
No chance this cacophony will ever cease.
From all sides, cries of pleasure and anguish
A maelstrom of sheer foolishness and waste
No matter how active, still you languish
The only solution: to leave post haste.
But who will guide me with no light to see
Who will move me when accustomed I grow.
Maybe someday I would like to be free
But perhaps this is it, this life below?
        It hounds us, from the day we leave the nest
        One thing we search for: to find perfect rest.

Thursday 19th January, 2006

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