Friday, July 23, 2004

A Sonnet for Statues

Eyes that are hard on the issue at hand
Are prone to wander, yet even malinger
Only to narrow the focused demand.
Lids remain closed at the sight of God's finger.
Black heart attack lays great weight to one's prayer-
Vagabond wanders from this place to that-
Unholy oasis that begs for your terror,
Across the plains stands a visible crack.
Yet terror runs hiding for deep darkest wood
And fear takes a dive in the shallowest pool
Earthly c. cortex stomped down by a boot
And hope stands up tall on the universe stool
For neckties, nor age, will ever replace
The wealth that is found in poverty's face.

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