To Rudyard Kipling:
I have seen what thou hast seen;
And praise its return!
Romanticism
Hath breathed, for thee, new breath.
Through electricity.
Tag Archives: Ugly
Sonnet IV: Lies
Say not thou knew the nature of a man,
Whilst knowing not the nature of thy thought.
Dost not thou know such thought is of a plan
Which not thine own, should one day be untaught?
Though thou art vaccinated well against
The recognition of such ill intent,
Thine own cognition likewise is dispensed
Away from that such thoughts misrepresent.
But who then are thy lords, that shan’t thou see
Such twisting evil as through thee hath spun?
What are such words, as should so guarantee
That never shall such evil be undone:
Such lies, as evil men have told to thee;
Such damage, as their serpent’s words decree.
This sonnet is part of a short sequence; click here to read it all:
Intro 4: Impossible to Relate
To a girl, not Sue:
To a girl, not even Sioux,
Will she sue, to know?
Sonnet: Utopia
O Let us rant, O young, for soon we die,
Too old to matter, let us have our say;
For soon enough, your will your hand shall try;
Time cometh soon that might you have your day.
If you succeed, you’ll not respect the dead,
But jeer and mock us all within our graves;
But old are we, who’ve seen so many tread,
And end, as ill, their chosen path as slaves.
So time and time again, your plans will fail;
But ne’er will you remember how we warned;
By then, our warning will to no avail;
Nor, of us, memory, but were we scorned.
If honest, you would scorn yourselves as well;
Deep down, this brave new world, you knew were Hell.
Intro: Let us rant
Let us rant, you young,
for soon enough we will die,
too old to matter.
Continue reading
Sonnet: Shrug
If Atlas’ Eyes were burning from our stain
Of festering foul collectivization;
Shrieking of our dehumanization,
Bloody streamt His Ears with piercing pain;
His Arms, and Knees, and Shoulders, bled with strain
With the weight of our dying population;
Retching! from the stench of our starvation;
Weakening Resolve! at our disdain
For men who build; who might, His Burden, ease.
So, would ye dare to task Him; “Hold Thou, Muse!
One moment more, ’til we depose these smug,
“Self-righteous beasts! No more! shall we appease
Esurience’s philanthropic ruse!”?
Or fear our thousand-years, and bid Him “Shrug!”?
Intro: Atlas
When once, Atlas, you beheld
Holding, as we are now, Earth aloft,
What would you He do?
David Emeron: Sonnets 