Sonnet No. III

Heaven's Sill

©2010, Olan L. Smith

One often wonders whether life is vile,

Or pirouetting, like a carousel ―

Is being like an everlasting trial,

Or art thou drifting dust on heaven's sill?

You scan the beach and spy some driftwood tall,

And ashen gray and smooth erect in sand.

You clamber up ― thy pride does not withdraw,

Indeed — you spy a peak so tall on land,

So, thou ascend a mountain, deep and blue,

A quiz for thy intrepidness of skill,

With every muscle straining taunt, and true

New testaments do dauntingly reveal,

Thus what is given silently is bold.

For thine own future —'tis unveiling gold.