Lucidity, Number 2

(An English Sonnet) Why do I wrestle with the weight of sound, my eardrums bouncing words like tennis balls? Why do they lie there like a graveyard mound, a pool of grief, or taste of bitter gall? I yearn for substance in selected scripts designed to frame and fix a furrowed brow; I pull forth words to rest upon my lips and dare to harness nouns or verbs to plow. Yet somehow tangled meanings still occur. Until the heavens’ gates are flung apart and every star agleam begins to blur may lyrics wrap themselves in action’s chart. Artistic wings must wake a sleeping shield and burn the yarn in every reader’s field.