Friday, 11 October 2013

Sonnet IV

Consult me not on matters of the heart,
For dabbling in such a gambler’s game
Made blind my senses from the very start
And martyred me but gave no cause for fame.
Enchantment wily caught me unaware,
And though I wrested fervently, I failed;
The fox’s den became my greatest snare:
Thenceforth my soul was forcibly assailed.
Traverse with heed the snaking path ahead,
For though lush verges flank you all about,
Childlike, into darkness, you’ll be led,
Indelibly, to spend a life in doubt.
And though insensible, at my behest,
My counsel, truly, seeks for you the best.

By L.R. Chapman
from Modern Melancholy, 2013 

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