Though eye still living sees a slower pace,
the dying eye will strive to hold the past
and dust and ashes memories erase.
One can’t unsay the words with painful taunts.
Though mouth unthoughtful speeds its fear,
the muted mouth is forced to baleful jaunts
and only hopeless future paths appear.
One can’t unthink the thoughts that mold our life.
Though heart unbridled rides untested love,
the sober heart will seize a palette knife
and choose new hues to paint the worth thereof.
One can in others and in self find good.
but pride ignores the weak misunderstood.
~No unshooting, a sonnet for the misunderstood, by Robert Stone