Sonnet VII

She looked onto the world in black and white
Though claimed, in earnest to see blue and red.
Some say she grew old and then lost her sight
While others spoke and claimed her to be dead.

She is young now and wrought by revolution,
Screaming and lashing for independence
For fear of the act of absolution
And dreaming of her mother's penance.

She is born by flame of her fellow man
And hides him deep within her earthly locks
While her tears of flint lace her with crimson.
Tis high time, freedom sought, by way of Locke.

So give me liberty or give me death,
For on me, my king,You shall never tread.