Hope Sonnet
I write all my songs, all my poetry,
Hoping I may be able to escape
Reality by means of symmetry,
In rhythmic schemes and with metrical shape.
I distort my surroundings in the glass—
Convex and past, covering my iris
Where the amorphous images amass,
Contaminating thoughts like a virus.
My dirtied spectacles, a petri dish,
Hold onto diseased cultures of fancy:
Glowing germs—cell stars made to take a wish
And transpose it where I might blindly see.
Then beautiful things coalesce and transcend
Beyond my imagined world of pretend.
poem by Tim Stensloff
Added by Poetry Lover
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