Monday, June 24, 2013

Summer Sonnet 37: My Troubles Here

The darkness that surrounds is a mere spot
in my iris that seems as big as sky.
Smaller than a fleck of dust in a lot,
cheaper than the cost of a seed of rye.

My troubles are as loud as an ant creep,
lower than a tower of mustard seeds,
a beetle's shallow grave is as deep,
quieter than a dead soldier's deeds.

What manifests out of this clot of land,
sequestered amidst an infinity?
My future escapes grasp like grains of sand
if I pollute my breath with empty pleas.

There is grandness in the smallest of sighs,
most gentle kisses and softest goodbyes.

- By Aurin Squire

1 comment:

Angelique Bouffiou said...

Beautifully humanly mirroring. Thank you.