Sonnet for 2022

To sing of loss, redemption, love and hate,
while tidal waves arise, collapse and flood.
Recovery comes, though some proclaim “too late”
and green shoots sprout, defiantly, from mud.
Life’s universal song, creation’s tune,
resounds with random dissonance and yet
within a measure, midnight holds high-noon,
the harmony enjoyed we soon forget.
Anticipating doom, hope tossed aside
convinced this stanza final, we may fear
that chaos in crescendo will abide
or rest, too empty, last another year.

Our vision short, no matter what our age,
A passing quarter note upon the page.