General Poetry posted December 21, 2020


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Shakespearean Sonnet

Nostradamus Today

by kiwisteveh


What auguries are these that shriek of doom,

a world so ill at ease that few may sleep

without foreboding dreams? The fearsome loom

of war, of nations torn, makes all men weep.


A pestilence is loosed upon our times;

disease not of the body, but the mind,

where mangled verses clash in jangled rhymes.

We worship Nostradamus, deaf and blind.


Yet all's not lost. Though wintry words may chill,

they are but sullen soundbites, woven lies,

distorted promises, contrived and shrill,

whose power weakens, stripped of their disguise.


Throw off these chains of prophecy! Be brave!

Stand up for truth and live the peace you crave.
 

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