Deliverance

Shakespearean Sonnet

The world collapses underneath my back,

And white nomadic tribes continue on

With neither worried thoughts nor care to crack

Their straight, beguiled eyes.  My sight, upon

The passing of this herd, resolves to catch

The shepherd guilty for this move of blind

Direction. Yet the flock stirs on to patch

A break within the swarm without a mind,

As though they knew.  This disdains my eyes;

My soiled feet have never taken me

Away to such a place as where demise

Should meet my senses - I can truly see

The fruit of my iniquities: an end

To endless skies; a road shall none extend.