The unkindest of human dread
That hits men 'pon this heart-less earth,
Not of flesh made nor is blood red—
But being left to live in dearth.
Faults of flesh can well be treated,
If not cured, alleviated,
But man no hospital has made
To cure the pain of loneliness,
Nor has medicines invented
For despair, nor for hopelessness,
Many a man has died for bread—
For a mere morsel, roof above,
Jaundiced when get heads, hearts jaded,
More die starved for mere scraps of love.
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This sonnet has tetrachords instead of the usual pentameter.
The lines are iambic as usual.
Sonnets | 07.12.08 |
Categories:
tetrachords, humanity, love, world,
Form: Sonnet
deep monophonic sacred melodies
resounding inner tremors and oscillation
reverberating incursion agitates my soul
stirring an ethereal timelessness of mystery
that transcends the enigma of life and death
and embodying mystique throughout the ages
bellows echoing within ancient monastery walls
a rich cadence and tone larger than life
assaulting all senses with vibrating
conjunct and disjunct tetrachords and hexachords
gregorian melodies most direct channel to divinity
most appropriate as we lay my father
in his final resting place
on this overcast rainy afternoon
and see him off to the higher realm
AP: Honorable Mention 2025
Submitted on June 30, 2018 for contest MID SUMMER 2018 PREMIERE sponsored by BRIAN STRAND - RANKED 3RD
Categories:
tetrachords, death, faith, father, heaven,
Form: Free verse