Sonnettics

The Abraham in everyone contends
With faith that brings us each the word of god
The word becomes a song which never ends
A harmony, unknown, unsung, unflawed

Dichotomy discovered thus is hid
In everything we elevate by prayer
It’s never done the things we thought it did
But thoughts are often hidden everywhere

We sense that time has passed when god is gone
But no one knows the place our god might go
If god withdraws, then everything’s withdrawn
And thus we speak the words we think we know

The faith of every Abraham is real
Dichotomy enhances what we feel.

As soft as thoughts of cotton in a cloud
She blesses words that fill the weathered air
With colors where such rainbows are allowed
And now I know just why she lingers there

As warm as life itself when passions rise
Beyond the metaphors of simple verse
She knows that trust may soon eclipse the skies
And stars might flare and fade as we rehearse

Rehearsal is a duty one might find
If duty were the purpose of her art
And we shall see, although we once were blind
And I shall clasp her gently to my heart

The strength of her is more than sweetened time
And she will be my final couplet’s rhyme.

When neural pathways stream from point to point
Their stream creates the power of a mill
And when they come to scars, such scars anoint
The pathway as it tumbles down the hill

The hill is just a metaphoric mount
Dismounted, I survived to think more thought
The pathways I create will surely count
As if they stood for something cheap I bought

Did I buy life? I know I paid a bill
A bill I was presented at the door
A door that opens outward on this mill
And once again I learned what cash is for

Again I hear the wisdom flood my brain
It flows in neural pathways, mostly sane.

The piper has been paid; the rats are gone
But rats are smart and hungry; they’ll be back
We know the night is followed by the dawn
But every brilliant day will fade to black

The cycles of the universe reveal
That opposites do more than just attract
The universe is like a turning wheel
The folks of Hamelin learned this simple fact

Both rats and children come and go in time
It seems as if it's fated thus to be
Perhaps there is a moral, most sublime
Perhaps the universe will set them free

The universe continues to go round
In quiet cycles piped without a sound.

At times I see my Sita in the sky
At times I see my Sita in my dreams
I know she’s far away, but I must try
To bring her back, no matter how it seems

My time without my Sita is like Hell
Naraka would be better than this life
But more than just a story made to tell
The world is always better with my wife

I’m every man who’s lost a precious gift
But gold and diamonds never will compare
To my dear Sita, who I want to lift
And show the world that she is good and fair

I need my Sita with me, by my side
My precious Sita, oh, my precious bride.

A festival that celebrates our town
We're Hebron, a community of friends 
The maples here achieve a great renown 
And every year we hope it never ends

The sugar from our maples is so sweet
It flows when trees are tapped in early spring
It flows like friendship flows down every street
It seems to make the people want to sing

A festive song, a festival we love
We welcome all with hope that always grows
Like maple leaves on lofty limbs above 
Through which the joy of maple syrup flows

The winter snows will melt and go away
While Hebron’s Maple Festival will stay.

I watch the maples sway across the street 
The wind seems gentle, tinged with gentle rain
The gentleness of morning is complete
As gentle dreams of reverie remain

The reverie of gentle autumn days
Remembered in the winter times of chill
I wonder if a maple tree that sways
Remembers when it used to stand stone still

The memories of trees are like the wind
A paradox with roots that wait for spring 
A memory no weather can rescind
The maple tree has other songs to sing

I watch the maples watch as I compose
A gentle song as gently I repose.

As odd conditions find their tongues are slit
Like fiendish fangs they drip with mothered blood
If born with light they start before they quit
Eternally what bombs becomes a dud

Explosions of conditions draped with fur
Expressions make the most of rancid dawn
Untold by children told to be unsure
The offer states the honor which has gone

We find the bitch of all we might expect
As heinous scars of rotten-rendered-meat
While more than this is what we recollect
And recollections hold what gods repeat

My mistress finds a place to don her hat
While screaming faithless fiction to her cat.

I watched Surreal suck cobwebs from my eyes
That bitch knew how to blend the disks of time
He painted worms like carnal squishy thighs
And only cared for things that wouldn’t rhyme

Like god-below-confusion camping out
Where sultriness enjoys a drink or two
I’ve seen Surreal behave like Holy Doubt
He knows what Holy Doubt can often do

My God, My God is this what Dreamers feel
I Am My God, I Am The Fucking Word
Confusion leads to everything Surreal
True visions run the risk they might be blurred

So blurred in blood the veins of time congeal
As cobwebs dance with God who is Surreal.