This sonnet was originally written in October 2019.

Arise, O sleeping soul, and seize your sword
For hear that Death has ordered you to "Fold!
Return to sin and love your lord of old.
Yes, taste and see the good my gifts afford."
Yet more and more grip tight that sword, for stored
Within those lovely lies is mold retold
With pretty words, words the Word will hold
For wrath. For none outrun the Living Lord
Nor any beast outlast his steadfast sword.
With fear you see the beast, Behemoth, bold?
Behold! beheaded and behanded, cold
With praise its god, Dagon, had prostrate poured.
So hold His holy sword with feeble hand
And read of Him who holds the Holy Land.