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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required To boil with all the energy of Hell may set aflame untethered wherewithal, for once expended nothing can foretell the limits of demise that may befall. A single match may flicker to a flame or simply set the whole of Earth afire. To calculate the fervor sought to tame, ‘tis pure conjecture wallowing in mire. Is speculation worthy of this fear, as desperation roars and war awaits? Let all the doubt and virtue disappear then leave your mark outside of Heaven’s gates. This paradox thus, crafted for demise, such irony creation would devise. Such irony creation would devise a mind that seeks the secrets Hell conceals. ‘Tis blasphemous that man would improvise a conduit that prophecy reveals. ‘Tis but a curse to be the chosen one and know its secrets dwell within your mind - and when unleashed, knows cannot be undone for Revelation predicates design. But only hope shall shackle fires unbound as light and darkness seek to set it free. And, in the minds where thoughts of Hell resound, we pray that light is first find the key. The mind of man was destined to unveil a sentience where evil notions dwell. A sentience, where evil notions dwell, shall also hide a goodness there within. ‘Tis but a quandary choosing one to quell when weighing which would be the greater sin. The moral mind lends not to meager thought that contemplates the end of all mankind but deep within, the mortal mind is fraught with duality, leaving reason blind. For neither goodness nor for evil’s sake does death consider scruples in its quest, it thus, depends upon what lies at stake that puts our mortal morals to the test. Though rationale attempts to find its place, this paradox has donned a flummoxed face This paradox has donned a flummoxed face and thus, assumes that power finds repose. To storm ashore, we weigh the loss at stake or hedge demise unleashing Heaven’s throes. ‘Tis but a choice a mortal heart of stone must contemplate when rendering such force, for once released the fiery seeds are sown and moral hearts will wallow in remorse. But wasted ponder, mulling wrong or right, is idle chaff for time leaves little choice. And peace must weigh in favor of the light though either bane leaves nothing to rejoice. Though hope is based upon a star’s release, the fires from Hell shall never render peace. The fires of Hell shall never render peace for all Earth’s corners war has thus, consumed. And if we wish those fires to ever cease the antonym of peace must be exhumed. ‘Tis irony that fire is fought with fire, ‘tis lunacy that carnage wins the day. ‘Tis imminent the race it will inspire to search for peace in such a savage way. And while the world in misery awaits for peace to wax and warring hearts to wane, the fires of Hell shall slip through Heaven’s gates and peace on Earth shall ever be in vain. Let light prevail, ‘tis hope we must embrace, for life and death were caught within a race. Book: This War of Sons Sonnets of WWII Chapter 11: The Bomb
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