Poem: This Morning

My fifth try at a sonnet. The Coursera course in modern poetry I’m taking has given me more to think about when I write. It’s been interesting to see how people analyze poetry.

This Morning

A ding a ring a buzz a beep

A stress demands response direct

But naught, no acts, no thought, asleep.

A wall of pain arose unchecked.

A pain of knives so fine so keen

The pain of life not lived, sedate

To wake each day again to preen

A looking glass so full of hate.

The wise man comes too late to help

No help, he bides his patient time.

To see him fight to keep himself

From wasting every wretched climb.

There is no way to sit in peace

No path forward. Into the east.


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