Thy retentious heart knowest a peril
Greater by far than any threat of man,
That, born of thy treachery, rank, feral,
Procureth a summons to vile a span.
Thy misgiving mind in mourning doth weep
For the wearied visage berth'd in its shell,
Nor nigh the hopes of eternity keep
As fleeteth thy spirit, fetid and fell.
Thine arduous flesh, through sin and despair,
Treadeth on soil curse't step-bare nor bane;
Thus doth the children of unkempt repair
Tasteth the bitter of evil: mundane.
Thou know'st not the whole of secrecy's keep
Ere knoweth the sooth of unblessed sleep.
3/23/05