Wrath

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
 






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