A sonnet for trying times

not what was imagined


Adrift in randomness, these times evoke
the superstitions of an ancient age --
and this could not be said to them who spoke
of these dark days as futures ruled by sage
and seasoned wisdom, logic, and the light
of noblest truth and fairest justice. Where
does come our desperation? How has blight
affected human bondedness, our care
for hopes we shared and lives that thrived on trust,
like arches of a bridge that spanned demise,
disaster, and disgrace? Like creeping rust
afflicting monuments to dreams, hope dies
in subtle stages, softly swept away,
until we dread the currency of day.