Sonnet 905

It seems the solitude of our lives,

Forces us sometimes beyond our stride.

Puffing up like peacocks with their pride,

Running through endless hoops of true lies.

No surprise when eyes fill with tears cried,

We succumb to sleep our brains near fried.

A tattered world is near demise.

But that doesn’t mean there isn’t gold,

Waiting patiently to be mined.

The time has come to break the mold,

Lose shallow thought, make action kind.

In the stars, leave the world behind,

There’s always home, so go be bold.

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