Son of Sonnet offered up a little Mardi Gras gift: this poem, “Reflection.”
It’s a bit of free verse, which is a bit unusual for Son, but I like it. He and I both (I think) are of the mind that structure enhances poetry, rather than limits it, so it’s fun seeing him experiment free verse. Even so, he has exactly ten syllables per line—that’s the Son I know!
Every artist as dedicated to his craft as Son deserves both recognition and support. I would encourage you to consider a subscription to Son of Sonnet’s SubscribeStar page as a way to encourage the growth and development of an eloquent voice on our side of this long culture war. Conservatives often complain about not holding any ground culturally; now is the time to support the culture that is being created.
Son of Sonnet
This land that I behold is my true home.
The dawn eases the frost from off the leaves,
and crisp air fills my lungs with life anew.
Always in the presence of God am I,
and train my humble body for His work.
The wind rustles the grass, and paints the sky
with cirrus clouds. I feel the crunch of dirt
beneath my feet, the earth that carries me.
It seems I am a passenger in time,
And all I am is like the painted clouds.
An ever shifting form, or bouncing sound,
like echoes within a desert canyon.
Yet my companion is always with me.