SONNET 134
'"If things alive aren't free, what it should have is a more spacious compartment," I said.
"But a prison is still a prison, no matter how big it is," she answered.'
~ Bob Ong, Si
Regiments marched in, the saints parade with bliss
A countdown hurried by twelve hundred rosaries
Causing the Oblation to oblate barnacles
Off its bronze nearly complete; tipped he th' oracle
In his temple, alone, then mind what're glassy eyed;
Though reaching high as the fireworks magnesium-white,
Bane-become the humblest sparrow's sky-lifting flights
Become the magnolia, blessed-admitting, since kites
Never begrudged the least twinkling brands nor desired
The strongest wind, but wind enough world inspirèd
Drabs a lonesome stewardship who, saving his fire,
Surrendered gaunt, the pale kings lambast, returnèd.
Whiter magnolias bloomed interred to liberate,
'Cept conflict's stagnance, like paradox 'nitiate.
