Sonnet Crown

The Snake

Once again, we make the world our meal,

The sun is just another cogwheel,

For once it’s all attuned to red blooded desire,

Passion will flee from what comfort requires.

The stream used to cut through this shady forest,

Wandering by like a curious snake tourist,

Now the hard ground is sleek and black,

And the snake’s heart longs to attack.

But its teeth are now gone,

Stolen for man to pawn,

Like a cheap medallion they hang,

More trinket than they ever were fang.

You can’t bear to gaze in his canted eye,

You would much prefer that pleasant lie.

Final Frontier

You would much prefer that pleasant lie,

That we wouldn’t dare hurt a fly,

That we love the spider’s poison bite,

And the beckoning darkness of the night,

That, come summer, we miss winter’s cold embrace,

And we stand from outside cheering on life’s bitter race.

We place our bets and buy a few drinks,

And stubble around teetering at the brink.

We can never know when to stop till it's too late,

So we stare at maps and decide everybody’s fate.

For a thousand years now it’s been preached,

But it seems the final frontier has–at last– been reached,

Yet we sit and plan and cut another dirty deal,

Once again, we make the world our meal.