SONNET 128
"The tragedy of man is that he doesn't know how to distinguish night and day."
~ Elie Wiesel, Dawn
Viscounts, tenant's years in glass walls a rent most cold,
Frail man that I am in full desire, dull; plagued world
And realm of sleepwalkers, one, so un-competing
Melancholic -- I petition thee unknowing,
Each winks Athena, grand compass-worker, who saw
From intellectual north my heart southbound.
Likewise of my spirit, sacred grove fallible,
Her wavy locks will find no further calm resound
In search of her, in turn, as day chases the crest,
That we may consecrate past and future by 'nd by,
Shriving a Blithedale romance of pale instances
Love, in this unforbidding world requires lies.
But do they lie? Sleepwalkers in their make-believe; --
Ghosts, low'st register'f their dreams, hence, who is deceived?
