I haven't written much poetry lately, but I'm announcing something of a:

Regime Change

For many months no sonnet dared complain,
nor even raise its head. A new regime
had come to power, threatening to reign
a thousand days of reason. So extreme,
some sonnets ended things to end the pain,
'ashamed of their unreason', it was said.
Looking back, it's tricky to explain:
how horrible they felt less awful dead!

The thousand day regime was quick to wane.
'Thank God the world has changed', our uncle said,
'a sonnet can live freely once again,
without the world comes down around his head.'

It could have lasted longer: in the main
regimes that listen, last. But you explain.

Roy