Or those sad sonnets,
Which are as gloomy as the gloom they sing.
...
Today I Write Not A Song Of Despair
Or those sad sonnets,
Which are as gloomy as the gloom they sing.
Today I write about the dusty roads to my home
Where I meet those
Ever cheerful dogs,
With unwell but innocent eyes.
Today I write about the pleasant rain
That comes amidst hot summer days,
A flower that springs among the rocks,
And the scent that comes to meet me at my window
From a factory nearby.
Today I write about the hope of a dying youth
That vanishes like the dew
Before the sun ever peeks over the horizon.
That first smile of child,
That first gush of wind
That secretly buries the seeds of spring
In the barren winter lands.
Today I write about those undying voices,
That fill this void beneath the clouds,
Silent and unnoticed.
Those immortal melodies
That floats on this air
Ever since the world breathed its first.
Those uncharred beauties
That beckons me from a yonder,
and everyday fills my eyes with
Unexpressable wonder.