King Damastocles

King Damastocles sonnet poems

Photo by Xubaet

My afflicting Evil precedes our God
himself; at dawn was born in turbulent
oceans, sunken ravines that few had trod,
ripe with fruits of ever-present torment.
People rejoiced at my each rising word,
trees uproot with the gesture of my hand.
Though I am shepherd to my joyous herd,
no more joy have I in rule, nor command.
I feel my hidden beat hissing faintly.
My palace is but a prison of dread;
so unrelentlessly, unceasingly
do ancient curses echo from the dead.

Now he treads in swamps of malevolence,
forever trapped in blind obedience.

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Editorial Board

@tdej_blazic, your rhyme and format is that of a sonnet. Some syllables not stressed on the right places would not distract from the whole idea of the poem. This is a worthy effort. We enjoyed your poem.


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