The Impatient
An Ekphrastic Sonnet
Perhaps the new law will not come at all
Our prophet may be mad, or sore deceived;
How shall we live? What is the protocol?
What is this fearful freedom we've received?
Heavy was the yoke of our enslavement
Miraculous our stroll between the sea
Now liberty smells like imprisonment
Where is the voice that tells us who to be?
Gold still has power in this mad desert
Our whirling, sweating forms pulse with new life
To the cult of its gleaming eye, convert
And in its name, slice young throats with your knife
Come dance with us, around our god of gold
Wealth merits worship; all else has grown cold
About the Creator
D. J. Reddall
I write because my time is limited and my imagination is not.
Reader insights
Outstanding
Excellent work. Looking forward to reading more!
Top insights
Excellent storytelling
Original narrative & well developed characters
Expert insights and opinions
Arguments were carefully researched and presented
Eye opening
Niche topic & fresh perspectives
Heartfelt and relatable
The story invoked strong personal emotions
Keep reading
More stories from D. J. Reddall and writers in Poets and other communities.
Comments (2)
There's something so threatening about, "Wealth merits worship; all else has grown cold". It's a scary way to end this and really makes it linger...loved it!
Yep, vividly the world then and NOW! 😩 great job❣️