Inheritance

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The maid employed a quiet, peasant man
who set about his work with fortitude
and finished all the chores within her plan

or planlessness, as whims her aptitude.
Yet, cheerfully without the first complain
he kept a smug contented attitude.

Then, came the day that squeamish boys disdain.
She showed affection asking for a dish,
replying he, as never quite so plain.

Outholding pitcher with a sly flourish,
he bowed, and smiled in answer, “As you wish.”

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(Written for A Form for All at DversePoets, a terza rima sonnet.  A bit whimsical, but I felt the need to write something!  )

Last Song of Solomon

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The wine from human soul
  in chalice, pure of gold,
intoxicates beyond control
  the sheep led to the fold.

The pastured green and sky-blue pure
  have brought us to this land
with painful trials to endure
  to reach the promised brand.

It burns, I know, your doubt away
  with prideful holy cause.
Concerns of life will hold less sway
  by ancient hollowed laws.

Your song shall cease and gods will dance,
  outpouring human swill;
for due the randomness of chance,
  we never had a will.

O love, my love-beat heart was seared
  by raised and righteous brand
that brazed a falseness as I feared
  in love’s bravado land.

Eroded, truths will always tell
  the moral right from wrong.
That river runs from muddled well
  to muffle righteous song.

( submitted for Open Link Night at DversePoets )

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