I started out trying to write a Shakespearean sonnet but somehow lost my way, so I suppose I shall name this NEW FORM, an Ackermanian sonnet.
in barley fields of honey-gold
walk on we must, through painful, lonely nights,
candles melting, drop by drop, upon the floor,
as step by step, we make our way through wispy lights,
searching, searching, always searching for that something more,
that haunting, chilling mist that drifts in from unknown realms of time,
upon the silent shore, this fearful, fitful, frayed frontier,
here as frosted winds blow in from failure's wintry clime,
still I walk on, in search of summer warmth, though still so far from here.
the miles, the days, the sands that fall, become but traces of my life,
coming, going, one by one, in the ebb and flow of joy, despair,
through trial and glory, rain and fire, sweet victory and strife,
I make my way to that great somewhere, where angels dare,
to romp in barley fields of honey-gold,
to be forever young and old, forever young and old.
May God's gentle grace be with you.