Untitled Sonnet

Smiling through my tears as now I write..

A very-long, if little while it seems,
We own an empty heaven full of hellish
Fun & blissful pains; a sharpness born
Of dull & blunt despair stands in for life;
A cowardice bred of hope & optimistic
Thought takes bed, becomes the second wife
Of stupid bravery; safe & realistic
Ways are trodden through the deathly, war-torn
Fields to peaceful, poor, quixotic dreams
And, not to fiction facts or falsely embellish
Things, the truth just lies within itself,
Whilst lies without encircle to attack,
To push the open boundary further back,
And leave the real & ideal on the shelf...

I laugh & frown to read this sweetest shite!

L. A. Barron


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