Sonnet 4

Upon occasion, dreams become concernsOf topics wrong and rotten and obscene.Our world will turn and churn until it burnsLike potion in a cauldron boiling green.And curséd witches slowly change the airTo gaseous smoky poison, thick and grey.As leaders prey, eyes closed, heads bowed in prayer,The young devolve becoming bleeding clay.Cold mountains crumble, dead from man’sContinue reading “Sonnet 4”