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