Mirage:
Written November 21, 2020. An attempt at practicing a rhymed Shakespearean sonnet.
The river stones forebode to scatter light It dances to and fro amongst the gray; The eve falls to the mirrored moon of night; Mist rises to confuse the honest ray. Earth gnaws against the bitten rocks of life; Their edges smooth or crumble from the foe; Above, the seething ripples flee the strife; The sound of water whistles from below. When poked, the matter lumps to crystal turn, Embossed in shades of powder from the past; Like painted jewels reflecting sun, they burn; In shrouded night, they seem as ashen glass. For unannounced to sheltered, urban soul, The polished stones are merely fire's coal.