Sonnet 3


I want to know how far we have to run

Before we reach that mountain top of Myth.

What jungles, deserts must be overcome?

What trials to come to reach that monolith?

There must be ways to simplify the task

To smooth the path and ease the climb to it.

I feel, within, my lips upon the cask

Of ancient scribes who dwell within the pit.

My knot-tight hand grips tightly to the pen,

I sit awake and stare down at the page.

I crease my brow and summon inner zen

Then scratch across the pulpy sheet with rage.

To balance both on bloodied tightrope here,

The painful task of lonely mountain seer.

Published by

The Sleepcoat League

Armchair anthropologist, sometime scribe, freelance philosopher, amateur artist, part-time poet, musical maven, alliteration aficionado.

2 thoughts on “Sonnet 3”

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