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Epicurean Sonnet

(on comparison)
Do we not seek shelter from the winter wind,
Yet welcome autumn's cool refreshing breeze?
Yet moderation's grievous discipline,
Where wine's fitting line be too ill-conceived.
In winter seeking sunlight on our face.
In summer hiding if we can in shade.
Though born as we are craving love's embrace,
Will not love's joy fade e'er the more you've made?
Warm baths in winter sooth our weary souls,
While icy streams relieve in summertime.
Though conversation be so ever droll,
What ghoul never finds silence more sublime?
In temperature, comfort's easy to know.
Yet any extreme's wretchedness will show.

Skeptical Sonnet
(on perspective)
As views beheld from distant mountain tops
Show lines and forms invisible from in
The valleys' furrowed folds and winding stops,

They hide that grime which oft provokes chagrin.

As leagues seem feet and soaring cliffs but steps,
The seer feels he soars as if a bird.
Yet should he measure his related breadth,
He should know himself hardly more than worm.
As drafts show their hues lacking other sense,
They hide the strain obliged to mount such height.
Though eyes see far where forest is not dense,
We live and die by our arm's length and might.
Perceived illusion has so much to teach
Of beauty that is ever out of reach.
Cynical Sonnet
(on evolution)
Adorned in satin,
silk, or sable fur,
Inhabiting forts,
courts or citadels,
One may think it shows thee be not a cur,
Though dog eat dog has fared thee just as well.
In calculation, incred'bly adept
Though what to count be not always so clear.
Accumulating the things we have kept
Has likely cost much we'd have held more dear.
Attached to our ambitious feelings first,
Whilst bumping shoulders yet amid the herds,

Though victims yet of such acerbic thirst,

We act as if we fly higher than birds.
Accounting ourselves supreme among beasts,
But only slaves who've made machines our priests.
Stoic Sonnet
(on resignation)
Would thou say better to have loved and lost
Than never know the soul deranging pain
That will and hope and fantasies exhaust
Without even knowing who is to blame?
The race is run not knowing where the end,
Unless it be thy unrelenting tomb.
There're weeds to pull if you
have seeds to tend
But find the time to smell the
flowers' bloom.
A spoiled child throws a
vicious fit
When it can not have some frivolous whim.
Adults must learn to patiently submit
to consequence however glib or grim.
If thy desire causes you some grief,
Consider if its ban brings more relief.

Hellenic Sonnets

Phillip Potamites