Fruit of Human Labour

A sonnet on a possibly relatable conversational topic

Beneath the bones of the earth is despair,
Manufactured by wrath, greed, and misuse.
We're instruments of demise, which is fair.
Invincibility leads to abuse.

Standing idly by does no one favors.

We stand to hold a terrible burden,

Although actions prove useless endeavors

Drawing us much closer towards our end.

Heavens only know humanity's fate.

Pray as we will, we know not freedom

From the chains of our lush, addicting hate.

We built ourselves a hell none can fathom.

Do we continue to seek redemption,

Or simply allow just retribution?

Reviews

[John the Baptist]

A very nicely written sonnet, but not a particularly happy one. Sounds like an Old Testament prophet railing against a sinful people.

[Callen Stein]

I do agree that it isn't happy, but the Old Testament view wasn't the approach I was making. I do appreciate the input