Least not in
The classic Poet’s manner
I’ve never studied
What the Poets say
Nor worried much
How they place their words
Or why that way
I do not know
How to write a sonnet
I am not sure
What makes pentameter
Iambic
I hope that’s OK
I’ve never studied
What the Poets say
Nor worried much
How they place their words
Or why that way
I do not know
How to write a sonnet
I am not sure
What makes pentameter
Iambic
I hope that’s OK
Intentional purpose
Inexorable decay
Dynamic tension
Eternally entwined
I remind myself
The darkness is always present
Even in the brightest light
Its balance is available
I remind myself
The light is not too bright
Rather my eyes remain
Accustomed to the darkness
As comfortable as I am
With the window
And its pretty scene
Offering distraction
As respite
It occurs to me
Pass through the window
I stop for a moment
Lean up against the fender
In the dry, brittle air
While the engine tinks and cracks
I never tire
Of the small wonders this world offers