Sonnet 14

Are we but pawns upon chessboards of those
who care not for the fates that their dice cast?
Mortal fools we are in puppet shows
to make the greater beings among us laugh.
We cling to thickest vines of Heaven’s trees
whose grapes are poisonous, for saintly wrath
would scourge the mind of all your joy and seize
your mind in fright. And in the aftermath
you’ll see that they betray your greatest hope.
Oh what can humans do ‘gainst timeless day
what ties our thoughts in darkest Hells to rope
that strangles us, in sadness there to stay?

We’ll cradle hope in blackest hours hence:
in war our mortal souls be recompensed.