Sonnet XXXII: Just Blemished Soil
©06-13-2022, Olan L. Smith
His head does strike its pillow firm with might
And sound asleep until the minutes tick;
Unbroken time. An half an hour takes flight,
And he returns to class, and hears the shtick
In peace. As life does close aboard a plane
Did decades pass? No rest, it's quick, inane,
His body only coils its peace by night,
As time does mark his spell reposed to stretch.
Alas, his life does fly, and stretched till night
Or dawn, or time he choose for rest to catch,
Who cares? As nothing matters alone with plight.
The writer's muse does wield an artist's toil,
This age, no fun or calm, just blemished soil.
YOU ARE READING
Sonnets Written by Olan L. Smith
PoetryI am moving many of my singly published poems into collections, and in this collection will reside all my sonnets I have written, and will write in the future--I hope you enjoy. Love, peace, and freedom, Olan L. Smith aka Cotton Jones. (Cover credit...
