Sonnet On It's Head


Like as men stumble from a slamm'd door,
So do my ponderings hasten to that end.
Each changing tact as one that went before,
In stumbling, falling backwards to pretend.
In innocence, now in the time of night,
Drawls loudly with no sound.
In truth doth beauty fall in terrored flight,
And belief gave, And now his word abound.
Belief doth snatch your momentary truth,
And turn beautious song to a cawing sow.
Feeds off your hatred deep of other youth,
And no-one stands when lies they start to grow.
     And yet in time I hope to lend a hand,
     To see the truth despite the blowing sand.