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Truth [for Mel Gibson] How much destroyed, how many lives denied, To trust Potemkin Villages called “God” And pretty scrolls depicting homicide, In ancient caverns, dim with time’s thick fog? We paint the way with arrows dipped in blood, Keep circling in waters rich with shark, Still boat-less, we are stranded in the flood, Retelling pretty stories of an ark. Yet, in appealing myths we learn to feel, Find in elaborate lies a sort of warmth, A longing for knowledge most surreal, Transcendent, and yet rooted in the earth. A legend void of vengeance, void of spite Will advocate itself in kinder light |
This Poem was Critiqued By: Sandra J Kelley On Date: 2004-02-28 20:30:18
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 9.37500
Rachel, I have always found the sonnet a difficult form but you make it seem so easy. I am sure you actually sweated over it but it doesn't show-there are no places where the language has been wretched out of joint for the sake of the form no rhymes where the word is not quite right but used anyway because it rhymes. In other words you did this one just right. Sandra