'Twas long before a Shakespeare play was quilled,
the fifth and sixth of deadly sins would prey
then dance with pride as innocence was spilled
upon the pyre where dastard evil plays.
The wicked toil around their witch's brew
of lies perceived as truths among their ilk
to spill the sloppy swill like gluttoned shrews
and cool its burning sting with sour milk.
The lust for power's fruit within their grasp
as greed consumed already slothen minds
too faint for God to hear when last they gasp,
too late to save a soul so ill entwined.
Though history repeats these truthful stings
it seems to barely slow the march of kings.
(This is an English Sonnet)
Listed under Rhyme for submittal to Nina's contest
Oct 13, 2019
If vines erupted and conquered my name,
On weather-cracked-stone beneath sullen skies;
Where shrouded secrets sink smothered in shame,
Circled by vultures that pray passion dies;
Eager to feed on Rigamortised dreams,
Candlewax death-cicles frozen insane;
Recycled failures devolving from screams,
Heard ruptured eyes when I couldn’t say plain –
Although tomorrow seems life-times away,
After yesterday killed ours yet unseen,
I loved you then, would then, and do today,
Despite your silence which suffocates green;
Then truly would I gasp bereft of breath,
When still unforgiven beckons cruel death.
Written: 10/2/2016
Submittal for: Overgrown with Vines
Sponsored by: Broken Wings
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