Sonnet 11: Love's torment

Go fall in love, fair maid, go fall in love;

arm with affection’s newly molten blade,

Down to my foolish fant’sy’s throat it shove

ignoring all the futile words it prayed.

Please chain its squirming body if you need

with bondage mar’tal strong which you’ll have bound.

Cremate it; then disperse its ashes, feed

your fertile land ‘f familial joy profound.

Yet this tenacious soul shall linger on

until the day the boulder on that peak

stop srolling to th’ Ephyrean King anon,

or the Caucasian eagle rests its beak.

Ere they the endless torment’s shackles break,

I shan’t my fruitless hope for you forsake.

2015/2