I went to show this new sonnet to my wife and editor and she said, "I'm sick of sonnets." So this may be the last one for awhile, as I aim to please. My mood continues to hold and I am so grateful not to be depressed that I would dance a jig if my back permitted it.
Now, like most of earth's prisoners, I am merely subject to the normal negative emotions of we all endure, though I've a mind to work on my mental chatter and bring it more in accordance with the light.
As I used to tell patients, "Antidepressants aren't supposed to make you happy, only normal--just as miserable as the rest of us but no more."
On the Anthropic Principle III
Footsteps-to-spring bloom yellow underfoot.
Rare irises purple the general green.
Sunlight is harvested from leaf to root
And God inhabits more than the machine.
Beneath blue wonder I do wonder what
The hell and whom all this was furnished for.
Could it be man, that whimpering, sniveling snot?
Ungrateful, spiteful, hateful, worse, a bore?
Were I an angel I would take offense
At such anthropocentric poppycock.
Given man’s nature, it does not make sense
That all the universe is his to grok.
Still the Hubble telescope implies
We are the only conscious pair of eyes.