A Father’s Sonnet of Parallax

Behold, my child, the flowing road below,

A river underneath that rushes past.

A blur of motion urges us to go.

The eye is fooled to think we must be fast


Now look ahead and spy the distant hill.

The mountain crawls along horizon’s edge,

The clouds above are nearly standing still,

And none can tell the sun to rise and set.


Your focus changes everything, I say,

Perspective is the greatest tool you own.

If things are slow then watch the day-by-day

The small details will show how much you’ve grown.


If things move fast then look towards the goal

And let the stableness refresh your soul.

Across the Gratitude

Appreciation only hides in gaps

Between the darkest pits and brightest peaks.

Consider it a graceful cave that traps

Destructive ideologies.

“Entitlement,” we named the glutton brute,

Ferocious imp consuming joy and peace,

Grotesquely chewing on the prideful root,

His appetite will grow the more he eats.

In time, the fiend emerges from its lair

Just shambling upwards searching hungry for

Kilometers into the crispy mountain air

Like starving wolves that marked the scent of gore.

Mistakes like these are often found too late,

Neglect or sloth the cause of bedrock flaws.

Oppressed by selfish urges far too great,

Profane belief that they deserve applause.

Quiescence only comes with quiet time:

Recall that nothing ever truly lasts,

Sustain humility despite the climb

To then appreciate the now and past.

Until it ends for good and we look back,

Vitality reduced to wrinkled hands,

When satisfaction is the thing they lack,

Explain to them and pray they understand.

Your highs and lows are there with purpose, too,

Zeroing out to be what’s meant for you.

First Emigrant’s Sonnet

Hello and welcome, Friend, to planet Earth.

The trip was long. Have you arrived in peace?

No matter what our people may have heard,

The battles on the surface have not ceased.


Your safety is my number one concern

So please stay hidden ’til we verify

That during your descent they will not turn

To shoot this vehicle out of the sky.


Awash in blood and smog and swarms of gray,

Their few get fat while many fight for crumbs.

Mankind believes that there’s no better way,

But nature shudders as they beat their drums.


I wish to meet them too, but there’s a need

To wait until the day they kill their greed.