Sonnet: Shrug

If Atlas’ Eyes were burning from our stain
Of  festering foul collectivization;
Shrieking of our dehumanization,
Bloody streamt His Ears with piercing pain;

His Arms, and Knees, and Shoulders, bled with strain
With the weight of our dying population;
Retching! from the stench of our starvation;
Weakening Resolve! at our disdain

For men who build; who might, His Burden, ease.
So, would ye dare to task Him; “Hold Thou, Muse!
One moment more, ’til we depose these smug,

“Self-righteous beasts!  No more! shall we appease
Esurience’s philanthropic ruse!”?
Or fear our thousand-years, and bid Him “Shrug!”?

Sonnet: Thieves

Through turns and twists, an endless beat, we ran;
I’d spurn the mists, descend to meet with thee.
We’d turn a bend upon a stone, and we
Would earn an end, and on our own, began.

But for a while–and never knowing when–
Once more to smile, then time to go, it was.
Through turns, we twist, an endless beat, and us
Returned, we list, pretend, and meet again.

You’d wrest some rest from lies and flight, and stole
From me some paradise, not quite forlorn.
I took, from you, a measure of that sworn
A garden, too. You stole no treasure, whole;
But gave us shrift, though magical and brief.
Forgiveness gifts me gratitude, my thief!

Sonnet: Good Intentions

The face, within the mirror, shan’t display
The visage of a monster? Nay; but, who
Might set out to discover what is true;
Not planning to destroy; nor ever stray

From good. His mild manner could allay,
And ever would his good intent undo,
Near any fear or doubt he’d not renew
His Godly pledge; and never disobey.

He,  to the mirror, says: “I shan’t forget
That I, this day, shall take this world, unclean,
And, of it, make a better place.”  Foretell
Ye; face with horror; watch his silhouette
Perform those actions sure to bring, unseen,
Into reality, the road to Hell.

Sonnet: My Friend

When hope’s last touch had, ever weary, left;
And never, solace opened up her arms;
Sweet dreams pervading comfort had been reft;
And fertile life had quitted of her charms.

Life, seeming ended, ever lingered on;
And pity choked her ever-ringing word.
It seemed as though I were a passing pawn
Unheeding of all joy and never heard.

When panic reared his dreaded mask, I had
To desperately seek to task this ache.
Instead, you offered friendship. (I was glad
To take whatever kindness I could take.)

Though first, it seemed your offering was small,
What magic, that you gave a gift at all!

  • One more for Jena:
    Though never would a hundred
    Ever be enough.