Sonnet 363

Blood, sweat and bronze and hooves on grinding stone,
So of this strife were ancient empires born-
Yet of such quested might, where have they gone?
Rubbled to lines in some forgotten rune.
From fearsome king to foot note leather bound,
A weathered chronicle now locked in lines
Whose song once did fair boast of hallowed ground
Here shelved in dust, dry parchment now confined.
Is this the fate the mighty to befall
Yes once upon a time, once long ago
A ruler deft of sword did govern all,
His story scribed in righteous blood wide strown.
A crumbled monument marks his command,
Raised fist askew, half swallowed by the sand.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

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