Sonnet I: Creators

And who are you who rape my Gods when long
Have They returned to ash, and dust, and bone?
What right have you to dash Them, cruelly thrown
And bleeding, from the Heights where They belong?

And who are you ignoble beasts; you throng,
Who violate and scourge Them unbeknown,
Then take your turn upon each vacant Throne
While still They fall, unknowing, from this wrong?

Do you believe your acts are in the right;
As though belief could claim to sanction rape?
Or take you carnal pleasure in the night,
While horrified Their past devoted gape?
Or do you quake with fear while knowing well:
The least such lie will have you burn in Hell?

This sonnet is part of a short sequence; click here to read it all: