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

Sonnet #26

O write me a verse for foolhardy men
Who behave as if lambs to the slaughter
Not able are they to pause now and then
And view their existence with laughter.
The greatest satire they would then observe:
The ceaseless complaints and churlish visage,
The good things they have but do not deserve,
The grasping for glory; that constant mirage.
When challenged such men may chortle and mock;
Bemused by the lack of enlightenment,
Or fly in a rage at being in the dock
Alas! It is they who lack discernment.
        The day you feel that praise is overdue
        First look ‘round for the joke may be on you.

Friday 13th January, 2006