Sixth Sonnet

O’ books now tucked into the shelves of time,
Wake up, as me, to find the morning light
each day that brings the dusty road I climb,
rocks destiny to and fro all its might.
Before the sea can close its wild swath
and clam the quilted feathers of the swan,
play not your gentle song unto the goth
or bend your bow upon a broken dawn.
Rise from the slivered dreams our youth infects
and counterfeiter’s staked upon the age.
Trust be the pen humanity directs
to earn applaud when light falls on the stage.
This day just one amongst the stories told
as each upon the shelf of time unfolds.