Friday, September 20, 2013

To the gods of Padre Faura

To the gods of Padre Faura
(a sonnet written in poor light)

Do we all go blind, when the great sun sleeps,
as we thread along your jurisdiction? 
Few bulbs of poor wattage, what the street keeps.
Oh how dark the place is, from dusk till dawn.

A glow I use tells me when danger calls.
Worse, it leads to danger, and it's my fault.
On stormy nights, a puddle I may fall,
if it not be for Zeus' thunderbolts.

To the gods of Padre Faura, we ask
A torch, a flame, a little luster more.
Or is this too trivial, you'll let it pass
Should we sacrifice billions worth of pork?
If you cannot light a very simple street,
What more then can we expect from your seat?

***May we implore you to have for us a feel of your divine powers. Allow us to see the fluorescence blaze.
Do heed our call. Do light the path that each of us set foot on. 

*The gods of Padre Faura are the justices who work in the Supreme Court, which is along the aforementioned street.

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