Thursday, 25 March 2010

SONNET I - SWORD SONNET

A sword which hangs serenely in a truce,
so finely made and pleasing to the eye,
will, when the Dogs of War have been let loose,
swing in the use of causing men to die.
A work of finely crafted steel art,
that never cut the air to strike a blow,
will in a war go straight through a man’s heart,
and cause his precious blood to freely flow.
Though art is meant to fill men’s lives with joy,
this sword’s art will only bring men sorrow,
which now in haste you wastefully employ
killing men who shall not see tomorrow.
   And when that sword has made so many fall
   You’ll wish you would have left it on the wall.

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