The Bomb II
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
Copyright © Mark Massey | Year Posted 2024
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment