Descent

A sonnet written for English.

 

It’s a despicable day, a worrisome time
When coming home to an unbolted door
Alerts your mind, you’re watching for crime.
In this age, our eyes are sore
From keeping up our guard
Watching our careful stride
As we dance through the glass shards
That were once a sort of joyride.
Never shall we fail to hang the chain upon the window,
Though we claim to believe in peace.
Beliefs have begun to yellow
We slowly draw our swords from their sheaths.
Our nation becomes ever more hollowed.
Our ruin has been forebode.

Reviews

[UponATyme]

The thing that stands out the most in this peace is the truth in it. The way the last line is so blunt, so devoid of hope, it gives the poem a very dark tone. Nice.

[phantompoptart]

holy cow Jazz. That was fantastic!