The Mezunian

Die Positivität ist das Opium des Volkes, aber der Spott ist das Opium der Verrückten

Royal Purple Sky Sonnet

Saw outside a lonely time

shadow firs are teasing me

breezily. Their scents make pine

every time all kinds, seasoning.

Under skies as pure as opal,

bright night dimmed by grim surroundings,

worse by wind, won’t hush, but yodels.

Houses still for nature’s crowning.

For my birthday, I would like

tons of air a year for life —

swear to heart won’t waste this time.

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Posted in Metered, Mezunian Sonnet, Poetry