Sonnet by scott from jail

Perhaps the clouds that cover morning now Their windiness so caustic and forlorn The rocking of the willow at the bough The lantern stirring on its crooked thorn - Perhaps the grey, impenetrable air Its yearning, distant blue, its rigic sky, Its tingling chimes, like mystics in a lair Revealed alone to birds who dare not fly - Perhaps these are the harbingers of night Which lies twelve hours away by Springtime's hand And Truth both insurmountable and trite Reveals in these what dominates the land - The sadness of a weary world at war Which schemes and screams for ever and for more. ~ Copyright © 2011 - scott from jail Published: 10/20/11   ·  Author's Page   ·  Next Poem