Sonnet 64

A grim new world forged here by clawless hands;
Graved images, the darkling brood of brain;
Dour monuments defying time yet stand;
Stone echoes that intone rude pride’s refrain.
Vast forests here in splintered plunder lie;
Wild rivers now enslaved by slabs of stone;
Proud mountains that did once uplift the sky,
Now rubbled in drab valleys down below.
What mighty wonders has this being wrought,
And from whose charter does he seize his sway?
What future, born of havoc can be got
When conquest blots the very light of day?
What suckled creature ever here gained right
To mar his mother’s face with such delight?

©Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

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