Sonnet to the:
Deathless Trumpets
I
have heard mighty death drums from the past,
There’s
a death march in oblivion,
—it
has the scent of a blood-splash, in the run;
I
can hear the warning of a death forecast.
How
true, My Lady, your words thou hast!
Behold!
The magic in these chosen ones:
“He
brings down the mighty from the high suns,
And
exalts those of low degree, the last.”
Demonic
armies of the years that were,
Are
now the armies of immortals that stir!
As
the world conspires, probing by night light,
Which
men whom seek power, careless what looms.
A
tireless task in Hade’s incubus night:
Yet,
whatever brings earth’s doom, will do!
No: 4478 (7-19-2014)
