Sonnet 21 Rhythmic Confusions Poem by Francisco Luis Arroyave Tabares

The sweltering day invites my spirit
To think of better times of yesteryear
When the air was fresh and we could feel it
Entering our lungs and head without fear.

Today we falter roaming in the weild 5
Searching for a bucolic peace around 6
Far from new cities where black pests are yield
But dreary poisons are all over found.

Ah! , shameless human mind never even
Endlessly digging space for a brave world
While sacrificing this planet's heaven
And its molds which were fine in days of old.

Unaware of rhythmic confusions
We find magic in our last illusions.
***
5-. weild= a wooded area.6-. bucolic= of country
life or farms, rustic.