(a sonnet by Timothy J. Verret)

You battle the mythical beast, Loch Ness.

Is it real? To you, yes, it is indeed.

It’s that creature you know as hopelessness.

To you, a “true” folklore Scottish, not Swede.

Hopelessness is me shutting down; silence.

Inconsolable inconsistencies.

I vanish, you vanish, comes the violence,

not so distant bell of deficiencies.

This is where I often place a God verse.

I cannot force something that just ain’t there.

“Thanks, God, I have not yet taken to curse.”

Just quiet. Just lonely. Just hopeless. Don’t care.

When catastrophe strikes, and it sure will.

We can love again. We can hope in “STILL.”