And who are these who rape my Gods when long
They have returned to ash, and dust, and bone?
No right have these to slash Them, cruelly thrown
And bleeding, from the Heights where They belong.
And who are these ignoble beasts; this throng,
Who mutilate and rape Them, unbeknown,
Then take their turn upon each vacant Throne,
While still They fall, unknowing, from this wrong?
Do these believe their acts are in the right;
As though belief could claim to sanction rape?
Do these take carnal pleasure in the night,
While horrified Their past devoted gape?
Or do these quake with fear, while knowing well,
Their lie alone will have them burn in Hell?
Reblogged this on David Emeron: Sonnets.
Powerful, my dear. Has anyone, outside those of us who know, ever grasped what this one is about at the beginning of this series? I am curious! I suppose anyone with a hearty hatred of post-modern artistic critique would peg it and jump for joy but that is far too rare a bird these days.
I commend you for your spirit as well as your commanding verses! My hat is off to you — kisses plz?
I am not sure. The more contentious or controversial offerings are not as much commented upon that those about rain, for example.