(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.”
