25 Nov 2016 – Sonnet

One night in troubled slept a lifted veil:
compressed together in a stately place
the leading lights (as men might say) of hell –
the demon-puppet rulers of our race,
whose silken suits (transparent), well revealed
(as if by x-ray) blackened hearts long sold –
all trace of human feeling gone, long sealed
in urns of red-hot iron, secured below.
These all are prophets of the Prince of Lies,
who preach of duty, feasting on your fears,
the legion hordes of legislative sties,
whose blackened souls no further oaths can sear.
Returning to myself in time for dawn,
I saw that every vote chose Satan’s spawn.