Friday, January 25, 2008

The king is dead

His promise full, the tyrant falls to earth;
His wreckage dusts the waves about the throne;
The many mourners weep, recount his worth:
Small appetite have they to weigh his bones!

These peasants loved his clever wag of tongue:
Their cries alike to gulls lamenting rain;
But we, who by his sordid works were stung,
Perhaps, should wisely mute our sad refrains;

For how, pray tell, are tears spent nobly now,
When we who cried to gods stone deaf "Reprieve!"
Were, for our base assertions, forced to bow,
Lest from him blist'ring wrath we would receive?

Think not that love is smother'd 'neath my ire;
But ev'ry grief bequeath'd me lights his pyre...

Note: I've been experimenting with sonnets. This sonnet is in the English form:



Anonymous said...

Do you have any old pictures of Hannah, because I don't remember her whiskers being white.

Shus li said...

Enigmatic poem, Dade; reminds me of the legend of the Phoenix.

The Phoenix is a supernatural creature, living for 1000 years. Once that time is over, it builds its own funeral pyre, and throws itself into the flames. As it dies, it is reborn anew, and rises from the ashes to live another 1000 years. Alternatively, it lays an egg in the burning coals of the fire which hatches into a new Phoenix, and the life cycle repeats.