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 poem.
From fearsome king to foot note leather bound,
A weathered chronicle now locked in lines
Whose song did once fair boast a thousand years
Here shelves 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 there strown.
A crumbled monument marks his command,
Raised fist askew, half buried in the sand.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

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