Sonnet for Readers of Poetry

a little love letter

In these latter days, prosaic life,
Hard-bitten sight, hearts’ calluses from pain,
A word or three just bounces off the mind
Another’s touch attempts contact in vain.
When poetry becomes an ornament,
Its truth medicinal but scarcely read,
Life’s dullness creeps to cover everything,
Soul’s melody made tuneless, rhythm dead.
Those still exist who hear the music sound
Through language, life and…