Keith D Trestrail Poet Sonnet

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On My 33rd Birthday

Here I am weary in my entreaties,
  there’s no one here but a man and his dog
alone among my rambling reveries
  and a small libation to clear its fog.
To God bespoken that I may foresay
  my own confessions at the water’s edge,
where the dull debris of time ebbs away
  and harbingers of death gaze from their ledge.
For here upon this cold Stygian sea
  drifts a hollow vessel its depths to fade -
a broken wreckage of a lost glory
  where hope is sunk and its memory laid.
Look, all I ask and all I want from you,
Lord, is to have my cake and eat it too.


          Written: January 1994

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