Sonnet No. 69 - The iron fist

Sonnet 69 – the iron fist – protest poem 7

Doth we mourn, and sense the end of empire?

Or celebrate the birth, a fresh nation?

A fair land, where all climb ever higher,

a home that resounds with all creation.

We are not now the beacon on the hill.

In truth, that was a state that ne’er exist.

Our lights burned bright for those who owned the mill.

For most, one’s life was crushed by iron fist.

Perhaps the latest foment is the cure.

Those on the outs, at last will plane the field.

These deaths we’ve seen, the change will long endure,

the bloody wounds, at last they will be healed.

At one’s heart, thou shouldst always aim on high

and fight to change those with the bluest eyes.

---June 2020

-David L. Stanley