Subliminal Sublimes (Sonnet 1)

Sitting alone with nothing but my thought

Trickled down the fogged glass pane

Thinking if all I’ve done is all I must

Not knowing what in life I’ve truly sought

All my dreams are slowly starting to rust

Worried only about the ending prize

I no longer sing or dance in the rain

No longer admire the gentle skies

For all great lessons are taught by pain

The journey is no longer important

The small things no longer embrace meaning

The river of ideas stands dormant

On material for pleasure leaning

But I realize I don’t have to rhyme

Look high, but know the small things are sublime.

Excerpt from “TheSee-Saw Souls” by
Kaanthal Manikandan

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