Sonnet 11 – Breakdown

Alas! As if my brain had turnt to sludge
I’ve lost my will to write; each lonely drop
Of creativity won’t spark, won’t budge
They each insist they cease, desist, and stop

My lexicon’s diminished, torn to shreds
I’m scarce able to rhyme, resigned to plod
Along all day until it’s time for bed(s)
And write, ‘blah blah, blah blah, blah blah, blah blah’.(d)

Not long before the meter will succumb
To frazzled, twisted thoughts that can’t quite form
Coherent, structured sentences dumb
They make so little sense anymore

Perhaps I’ll turn to reading now instead
Perhaps somehow it can reset my head

Sonnet 9


How does one find the road he’s meant to take?
When will one know she’s chosen right and well?
Will he yet seen the signs, and his choice make?
Will she receive the answers she can’t tell?

I, too, am drowned by doubt and grayish thought:
What have I done that’s changed this world I see?
Is this what my creator, in me, sought?
Have I done anything but work for me?

I write these things upon a lonely page
Undoubtedly without a hope to be
Someone to change this growing earthly stage
About whom all would say, “Thank God for thee!”

I oft return to ponder thoughts like these
When wond’ring if I’ll yet the moment seize

Sonnet 7


Sweet words; they tumble softly off the page
And into minds of curiosity
Telling of diff’rent worlds in diff’rent age
They ‘xpand the deeps of our philosophy.

 A hardness comes upon us when we close
These vestiges of wisdom, wit, and wile;
Their words become distant, their thoughts our foes;
We sink into a narrowness most vile.

 And in this human darkness, we pretend
To know the truths of those who came before;
We act as if the world is ours to mend
And wisdoms of the past we, smug, ignore.

 If for a moment egos could subside
Perhaps we’d know again what egos hide.