Boho Saints

(a gen-x sonnet)

Like boho saints arrayed in sinners' clothes,
They rise as foreign hills devour Sun,
And search out stalls arranged in asphalt rows,
On pilgrimage in moonlit Albion.
Through thronging streets that hide a vague despair,
Through writhing hipsters dancing in their night,
These raven sattvas pass by unaware,
Dark seekers on camino of true Light.
To ends of earth, in separate journeys move,
Like novice monks sent filling masters' bowls.
So, finally, in mystic lessons prove,
Prophetic signs confused on branded souls.
  Apart together, on inseparate way,
  Like sinner saints in boho clothes, we pray