Joe Lake's Sonnet

A Sonnet

The disaffection of a troubled life
Where all existence may seem dull as blur
Where boring hatred cuts you like a knife
And nothing that is art may then occur.
You wallow in self-pity and distress
You search for answers but can’t find the way
And blame the world for causing all your stress
Believing what all other people say.
Then, through the mists of reason and some rhyme,
Four Jewish scribes created an illusion
With waking sensibility in time
They blessed you with their absolution.
All was lost, a saviour was created
That calms the mind and has all fear abated.

© Joe Lake