Sonnet 61 'There Is a Desperate Bent In Men Who Lose'

There is a desperate bent in Men who lose, A silent howl that seeks the lie to prove, That She Loved Him, who otherwise did choose, And shunned him! Seek with teaspoon seas to move, And you, my friend, my silent fool, my boy Will suffer for your faith, for ‘twas ill-placed. Why can you not believe? Why must you toy With fantasies? The calms with which you’re graced Must be your roadstead now – your sails repair! Pound in the caulk! Reseat the mast and cast Anchor! From storms rest, now the way is fair! From hopes to ropes and rigging! Sail on past! She loved well as she could, but did not want You! Fool! Let past be passed, hopes no more taunt!