Sonnet 421

That gentle love might rise from savage lust:
Confounded action ever rife with blame;
Illicit passion, rare to ever trust
For when endeavored, often leads to shame.
There of abandon when that beast is fed
And souls in quiet contemplation lie
To craft whereof that sated beast be led;
For soon grey dawn will break the blackened sky.
Though fervent flames will end in ridden ash,
Of rare therein a lonely coal may glow
And draw upon some unseen hidden cache
Of buried fuel pure fondness may bestow;
Still like a flamelet can appear true love,
Redemption bright from trespassed ruin thereof.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

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