Sonnet Twelve

I tried to write these words when so aroused
I could not circumvent the pure profane.
I would the raging fire would be doused
By turning my attention from the stain

Of long protracted protocols of guilt
That follow the climactic burst of lust
Upon which many passions has been spilt
Too many times to count; from dust to dust,

There surely will not be a sole reprieve
From fantasies made vivid by desire.
And following that death, no saint shall grieve,
But rather nod assent to the sheer fire

Into whose flaming depths I will be cast!
In hell I will have found my home at last.

© 2021 by Andy Pope