Sonnet 314

The weight of pen in hand, that mighty sword
Whose deft sure strokes can carve a message grand,
Fair forge a country’s very will with words
Then sign a writ whereby a wretch be hanged;
A nation’s history loftily consigned,
A proclamation that can set men free,
A drafted law to have a race confined
And now a note to come have toast and tea.
To scribe the word of God in iron gall
And etch a statement to rest on the moon,
To challenge in meek words a tyrant tall
Or craft sweet rhyme to make a lover swoon.
What power immured in but a simple pen,
Here yet entrusted to the hands of men.
© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s