Sonnet 587

The human pleasures that the gods devised
Seem manifold, but when examined, few.
Borne of five senses where all minds surmise
Some grand gestalt that we imagine, true.
Here misperceptions grow in common thought
Or yet, perhaps, percipience is gamed,
For one man’s gladness is another rot—
Yet why the difference oft cannot be named.
While all can quickly find the sweet or sour,
The sharp, the dull, light, dark, a fragrant drift;
Ask then what is the one most beauteous flower
And here shall rise the most contentious rift.
How vast the difference that two men may see,
Of senses five … and one reality.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

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