To an Editor

[Variol Farseer]

Dear Sir: Your silence sets my ears ablaze;
your spurning pen is eloquently mute.
No lover ever pressed a colder suit
than my attempt to win your purse's praise;
no offering met an idol's stonier gaze.
The Powers are pleased, or not: justice is moot.
Cain's garden failed of sacrificial fruit,
and he was marked, 'Can't use this,' all his days.

Enough! I'll trouble you no more, but let
my heart's ink fertilize some potter's field,
and heedless roots peruse my buried pages.
That faithful verdancy will not forget
it was my labour's bones increased its yield,
my blackened lines that greened it for the ages.

[sgt.null]

nice. reminds of folks like Sandberg or Frost.

[wayfriend]

A sonnet! Well done. (Except, can a pen spurn you if it is mute?)

[Variol Farseer]

Believe me, it's been done. Pens are very effective that way when used as part of the silent treatment.

A man who buys ink by the barrel, and won't use any of it to write you a letter for three solid years, makes a fine example.

[Prebe]

Cool Variol! Sonnets are rare things these days. It is a perfect example of how personal experience (especially negative) can set a keyboard on fire (or ablaze ). It is, however, painful irony, if this magnificent work should keep you from having your works published.

The "eloquently mute" oxymoron is virtually Shakespearean.

[Avatar]

Aah Variol FarSeer, what a waste it would be.

--A