Rodak

Sonnet: Cross Roads

Eden post-the-Fall remains the same—

Material creation, doomed to die—

Though mortal every beast that Adam named—

Eden shimmers, perfect, in the sky.

There is no heft nor grit to simple light—

You tread rough gravel grinding toward your grave—

The vertical’s the Way to focus sight—

The horizontal’s tracked by soulless slaves.

It takes Time to hack a trail from A to B—

On the distance gained slow degradation feeds—

Deaf, distracted, crews too blind to see—

Along the level path cast futile seed.

The standard thrusts you up, toward the sky—

The crossbeam holds you hanging out to dry.