Sunday, August 30, 2015

The Challenge of a Stark Aesthetic Choice

You might not want to read this. Long ago,
When I was four years old, I saw my home
Destroyed in dreams. This churning necrodrome
Expanded house by house, until the show
Had caused a world to crumble in the flow
Of time's eye-blink destruction. When the foam
Of night's flood had receded, monochrome
And clear it was, that life had whispered, NO.

That secret made me love the sonnet form,
The principles of grammar, usage, craft,
The challenge of a stark aesthetic choice.
Others might reject an austere norm,
But I would drown in dreams without my raft
Of heritage, and life would sink my voice.

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