Sonnet 2,336



I’m grateful for the muses in my life:
The war and terror tearing Terra down~
For what else would my conscience have me write?
And what else to explore, or to expound?

Thank goodness for the blood and pain and death;
Without those things, no need for rhyming art.
We’re lucky that we witness to such depths
The torture of the Earth’s still-beating heart.

How grateful we should be for politics;
How thankful for the fear of gods, and greed~
I pray that love and hope do not eclipse
The beauty of the war that poets need

I lie: for song, I’ve lost my appetite;
I’d love to have no poetry to write.


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