Rain under grey has hung the chicken-wire
with pearls at hexagonal vertices
strung over fence-boards corseting higher
v cats and opportunist burglars. Jeez!
How could such dull utility so thrill?
But blackbird song drilled diamonds through my wall,
seized me to receive beyond my will
the common gleams that common can enthrall.
For every day our fences bind us in -
barbed thorns and razors crown the dark decree
strung by tyrants to pen in suffering,
forbid huddled humanity to flee.
Yet here the metal with such tears is hung
as fabric that the darkening sky has spun.
.......................
It's a Shakespearean sonnet. It's also a Good Friday poem.
YOU ARE READING
The Singing Season
PuisiThe Singing Season. That's the spring-time. You'll also like other MajorSeventh poetry collections - and there are so many to choose from.
