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English Sonnet 178
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Our frantic clutch at security, naked greed,
Such sterility has in our lives revived,
That we have auctioned souls. On our head,
Is written word- “Acquiescence”. Uncontrived

And without shame, we hallow- hallow roar
For new apparel, All our actions rake
Of calculated moves, We ask for more,
In quick succession when it does forsake,

The old apparel. The world is competent,
But aimless, hallow, lifeless, gory, dead.
Our needs are purposeless, complement
Our sordid, gutless fears, hopes. Instead

Of writing all our troubles on the sand
For tides to wash away. We trembling stand.

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