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Wrath
October 2, 2017
Thy tender song of innocence
A sonnet theretobe
One cries out within the brush
“He found his way to me!”
When his righteous reign of fury,
A forthcoming catastrophe
Resonates through cries of thy babe
His presence no longer be.
Upon his own vain glory
The citizens knees will quake
Each eye left corrupted
And abandoned to a prolific wake
He who will not sob
And he without acquiescence
Is damned to endure again the reign
Of God in all his essence
© Sarah M., Blairsville, PA
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