[I started writing sonnets as warmup writing exercises. Of course, they’re all dark and fantastical]
A thief once caught cannot unsteal a ring;
Standing before a jury they may speak
And gamble with their necks — the losers swing;
With justice done, all hope is obsolete.
What sort of heart must she possess to give
My absolution from the greatest sin?
Where does one find an organ resistive
Of Saintly quality that once hath been?
Through hallowed ground I dig and dig and dig;
For lightning soon shall kiss thine body back
From Death’s embrace — too long chained in his brig;
Tonight, tonight, I bring you from the black;
They’ll brand me mad. So from these lands, we’ll flee.
Arise, my love, and pardon my decree.