Sonnet:
The Skull of Putin
Outside
how small, within how strangely thing!
What
demon terror has their paths in there?
What
chants of Hell and hates linger within?
Thunder
and blast, evil like rats, in there!
Here
kept is the gleam of Russia’s past.
Here
armies are being tailored, yet to be.
The
world on its knees, will never last
Yet,
a haunting plea in Putin’s decree.
There
will be awful judgments, and God’s might,
To
those inquests, and Putin will be led—
On
a bed of cold worms, Hell biting mites
Into
this room artic cold with no light!
The
immortal damned, question here, the dead,
As
the devil’s foul weight, falls upon his Head!...
No: 4483 (7-21-2014)
