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Revolution
April 24, 2019
The mist covered the bay of souls.
where the people lay to rest alone.
To hope again to become whole.
But the request denied and the stories are foretold.
Thus the echos of creatures can be heard.
The master of death is out of control.
That is where the ashes are burned.
Then you see the death patrol.
As the day time waits to rise.
Anger builds up inside.
When it is finally time to shine.
Deep deep down you feel alive.
The revolution comes out from their hide.
And their last words are Do or Die.
© Kelly B., Wichita, KS
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My teacher challenged me to write a sonnet for extra credit and this is what I thought of.