Tuesday, November 16, 2010

Sonnet XX "Ghosts"

With Memory ephemeral,
And history constructed myth,
And mother's milk so tainted with
That madness daemoniacal
Which so corrupts the unformed mind
To swallow wholly ever Lie
And call it true, we can but try
To maintain Hope to someday find
A meaning, Hope, however small,
A future, Hope, however dim,
An exit, Hope, however slim,
A wing├ęd Hope to never fall.
With nets of myth and lie and shame,
We long for Hope to fly again


MNTY said...

i like it.


Reogan said...