Spontaneous Sonnet

by Ray Davison

and Kathryn Inman

But without words, what are we? Grov'ling beasts?
Without words, why should we shamble 'round home
With no chance to dine, to sup, or to feast?
Without words... in what other soft, cool loam
May we lay down our world-weary heads

you're getting warmer

To run out our tears, our griefs, anguish

I am very articulate
but that doesn't solve everything
and I think

How else might we run, flee to our beds?
Must we not daily the Muses' faces kiss,

that the things it doesn't solve are the most important, at least the most relevant to my life and mental/cognitive
challenges atm.
oh you

Lest they be angry? Should not we bow down
this doesn't encode a diminishment of my appreciation of words at all
And worship at the font of Parnassus

and no, we should not bow down

So that we might later rise up with crowns

nor guide ourselves by the oracles' words

Of peace, and joy, sharing in catharsis

crowns of joy?

Of the gods here and below, but most of

and peace.....what would that really mean?

All that of Him of Grace, the King of Love.

Thumbnail image by Evelyn Stetzer.