Sonnet 11 Purity
I hope that still, within my free heart, Lives,
A secret fire that cannot be defiled.
I’m just a man, who sins, trips, oft forgives...
Filed in a drawer, my Soul’s a little child...
Who knows that I will never Perfect be.
Yet, there’s a sublimation of all that,
In exercising all the wit I see,
But after, I lie, panting, on the mat...
This whole confusion’s all illusion, really!
Contusions upon cuts can’t win the fight!
And polishing a clod is worse than silly,
So… WHY? Because, by GOD, we have the right!
To seek within, a Sacred, Humble Spark,
That ever, and anon, puts out the Dark.
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