Sonnet IX: Trapped

No choice for me to sanctity refuse
Nor hesitate to tenderness adore;
Too long had I such reticence before
My failing-fast reluctance to excuse.

No choice to make; regard the choiceless muse–
That love to which in helplessness I swore.
No choice to take, no helpless choice, the lore
Whose wonderment would grant me solace, whose

Enthral would thrall me with her soft caprice,
Whose warming shield would warn me then into
Whose fate and fatelessness I would pursue.

But now, to cease the hold its hold would cease,
And nary muse nor swear an oath to peace,
My heart will sing its praises to be true!

This sonnet is part of a short sequence; click here to read it all:

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