Sonnet: Our Own World

Tis not for mortal man to know the mind of God,
Resplendent place where mortal man once lived and slept.
As pants were put on mortal man and feet were shod,
He walked into the land to be and promptly wept.
The garden, hardly Eden, never quite so tame
Still does provide some nourishment for mind and soul
When mortal man was sullied, did he cast for blame?
Or did he grudgingly accept that he was whole?
The mind of God is vast, as is the mind in you,
The one who would create a garden in the sun.
And should your own creation prove to be so true
You’ll sing for joy and dance with timbrels as you run.
The absent ruins of old Babel hide no arts
But can we carve a world so lush with withered hearts?

2012 January 6