Who speaks in iambs cadence anymore?
For when, in-person do us humans meet?
Feathers – a heat shield made avians soar
Nature gave toolers, vox boxes that greet;
Or our new tools be boon or do us in –
Will nature select happy accidents,
Or wash away collective memories?
In crowds are we just alien bedouins?
for when do we generate empathy
If never touched by another being
If we scatter and go separately
Who will go exploring, seeking, dreaming?
Can we prove nature did not misselect?
She truly chose wisely – we are her elect.
Notes: Day 23 of NaPoWriMo 2016. Prompt was to write a sonnet. More than the form, “sonnets usually pose a question of a sort, explore the ideas raised by the question, and then come to a conclusion.” Continuing the Earth day theme from yesterday, this is about nature, evolution, humans, social media. I kept the lines to (I think) roughly 10 syllables, don’t know if I got the iambic pentameter part right, though. I followed Shakespearean abab-cdcd-efef-gg rhyme pattern, considering today is his 400 death anniversary. Sonnets are rough, that’s all I got to say.