By I.E. Sommsin
God, will you forgive the sins of our times,
this sad era, its soft habits of thought
and the glib assumptions easily taught
that breed the lying slogans worse than crimes?
We cannot help how the words work to cloud
and clog and flood the forums of the mind.
They build the thick high walls that keep us blind
and kill the calm silence with all that’s loud.
Myth, wild tales, and the clever fools come cheap,
and the boldly stupid prompt great cheering,
while the magical, repeated, jeering
accusation makes the shallow look deep.
You in the future will know what I feel
when your nation’s caught on history’s wheel.
I.E. Sommsin, a writer and artist from Kentucky, lives in San Francisco and has a fondness for sonnets.
Photo credit: donaldjtrump.com