Apr 3, 2025
“The Ember’s Game”
A sonnet in the style of Edgar Allan Poe
In ash-veiled skies where raven shadows stir,
The Golden State in silence chokes and weeps.
A fiery plague, no balm nor whisperer—
Just secrets that the marble tower keeps.
Behold! The tyrant’s smirk, a shadowed grin,
He watches westward oaks and mansions flame,
Yet lifts no hand to soothe the smoke within—
For chaos paints his foes with strokes of shame.
“Let Nero’s heirs be scorched by their own hand,”
He hums beneath the halls of trembling might.
While whispers coil and tangle through the land,
He drinks the dusk and hides the guiding light.
So burned the coast while fools played power’s game—
A leash, a match, and none to name the blame.
