A Dot of Gold

A drop in thousand rides a tidal wave
of thousand voices doth a chorus form
It wavers hardly inches from the norm –
upon it, streets of lives of hopes are paved

Yet thinketh, grasping in an iron first
lays sand too find – of it we think too light
the Knowledge in it we mistake as might
(Against good sense – wholeheartedly resist!)

But mist to mist imagination drifts
To rot, to dust, go our forsaken gifts

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About jfkwt

A little person on a little island in a little planet

Posted on February 16, 2015, in Poetry, Sonnet Practice and tagged , . Bookmark the permalink. Leave a comment.

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