In shadows half the days of men are spent.
Across the world the dark remains the same;
For we are cursed, and blind, and lame;
The hard stone of real’ty will not relent.
This day surrounds us all; we are present
All souls bide their time, their sin, their shame
They seek to bend the law to grey acclaim.
Now what has all this sound and fury meant,
I’ve asked the powers that be — they have decreed
That time is too short for naught but the test
Of Fire, and only through that can one come
Close enough to the naked wanton need;
For there is the appeal, the fun, the zest
And so, my dear, my sonnet, in its sum.
© 2013 Christopher William Lange & Lange Associates, All Rights Reserved