Sonnet 363

Blood-sweat, brazed bronze, wrought hooves on grinding stone,
There of this strife were ancient empires born-
Yet of such lusted might, where have they gone?
Rubbled to footnotes in some long lost rune.
From fearsome king to excerpt leather bound,
A weathered chronicle now locked in lines
Whose song once did fair boast of hallowed ground
Here shelved in dust, on 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,
That story scribed in boiling blood now cold.
A crumbled monument marks his command,
Raised fist askew, face mired in the sand.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

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