07 Dec 2015 – Sonnet
The burning, lidless Eye of Sauron scans the sky.
All todays reports catch shall be seared to ash.
There’s nowhere hapless techs can ever hope to hide,
their sins and missteps lashed where anguished teeth are gnashed.
Report One-Seven-B can never be deceived.
Can any deed atone if they don’t man their phones?
The watchful eye’s aggrieved, the blackened mark received,
hells harrow rakes their bones, no mercy for their groans.
A potty break is one thing, not ten minutes run
for just a breath of air, how can a peasant dare
to stop once she is done for just a bit of sun,
and think that no one cares, to feel wind through her hair?
No more bloody benches, chains, or endless rowing,
yet it’s still the same despite the masters’ crowing.