11 Nov 2016 – Sonnet
Before you paint your picture, pick the proper brush.
Fine detail work demands the smallest feather-strokes,
and if you seek true-likeness don’t be in a rush,
each heart hides secrets – even those of “simple” folks.
The fool reveals himself by shooting from the hip,
all long consideration scorned, he knows it all.
His shoulders bear an empty head and bitter chip,
hand-puppets populate his world – perceptions small.
And now, the lines are drawn, you’ve sworn you’ll not retreat.
You guess the twisting labyrinths of ‘godless’ souls.
You can’t admit what you don’t know, for that’s defeat,
and compromise has never been your cherished goal.
“Take That!” The Wheel of Hatred gets another shove,
while ‘righteous’ judges BBQ the sacred dove.