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 10

‘Tis said a man can walk his life alone—
That others form a not unwelcome part
But one that is unneeded for his heart—
That by himself he can his talents hone. 

This grand and spurious fallacy is e’er
About when talks of “manliness” occur
When men take truth and right and them inter
‘Til more convenient truths take to the air.

 Forever’t seems we struggle ‘gainst such thought
Some misbegotten, fruitless, mad ideals
That seem so deaf to reasonéd appeals;
With peril reason’d words are ever fraught. 

For ‘til the day can come when reason wins,
Men will be filled with barb’rous, “manly” sins.

Sonnet 9

pexels-photo-258510.jpeg

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 8

pexels-photo-132037.jpeg

To ev’ryone whose life has twists and turns
To all whose troubles seem to swallow you
To each who can’t determine what to do
And ev’ry person whom for quiet yearns:

Belay the thoughts that beckon you to scream
O’ercome false wants of giving all up now
Stop spending time on why, and when, and how
And what the cruel world has against your dream

Look up to skies of blue and hear their song!
Listen to soft winds whisp’ring through the trees
See how clouds drift with ease upon the breeze
How winds take leaves and carry them along

And in those moments, pause and breathe and see:
The world can, in a second, make you free.

Sonnet 7

pexels-photo-590493.jpeg

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.

Sonnet 6

Along the vast crevasses of the mind
A spark can light the genius held within
If only it’s able t’withstand the din
Of thoughts that whir and hold genius in bind.

Once through the darkest valleys of the id
The spark can fin’lly light its little flame:
The flame to build so large the mind can’t tame
Its roaring cracks that can no more be hid.

The mind springs into action, flame alight!
It is at last ready to innovate;
Its thoughts race now, trying to translate
The flame into some brilli-ant insight.

And ever does it cycle, spark to fire
Leaving their light on minds until we tire.

Sonnet 5

With fevered dream, my lost and weary mind
Does toss and turn in interrupted sleep
Stones fly, birds speak, and in a fright I weep
For ‘magined evils I can’t leave behind

My mind plays tricks on quickly-beating heart
Makes it believe the world is being rent
Asunder, that at last the dark’s ascent
Will cover all the earth with hellish art

Covered in sweat, my aching body cries
For hot, for cold, for drink, for food, for rest
It little knows the real, not east from west
Without the mind, it knows not truth from lies

But fin’lly I awake and noises cease
I find some modicum of waking peace