Sonnets 9-12

 A beauty shone forth from the gutter,

An unclean wench, empty in wealth,

 Which parted us in monied shutter;

A beacon of distracted health.

 To be viewed with her in plainest sight,

Would reduce my wallet tenfold,

 But I vowed to change her povertied plight,

And into majesty to behold.

 No noble act was this, not charity,

Actions guided by the selfish gene;

 Clouded by my heart's bathed clarity,

Altruism's lies were picked clean.

  Unsuccessful, my wealth enervated,

  I walked among filth the gentry feared to tred.

© menshallknownothingofthis.co.uk 27.05.2009

 Conscience in turmoil over a dull ache,

Perversing long held maxims and beliefs,

  No use for them now, thin as the snowflake,

Flushed out by a torrent of griefs.

 The goal of malady was a teasing wench,

When I gazed upon her all thoughts were blank,

 My hand into fist did slowly clench,

Inciting the ego to places dark and dank.

 An oppurtunity arose, one misty night,

I followed her home, waiting for a chance,

 Now alone, the world out of sight,

The demon was quelled, with a piercing lance.

  And as I left her laying in the gravel,

  I heard the distant thunder of the judge's gavel.

© menshallknownothingofthis.co.uk 27.05.2009

 No longer could I live this soiled deception,

A lie we both knew, but feared to reveal,

 No penicillin to heal infection,

Observing love’s unflattering congeal.

 In one tumultuous night I voiced my shame,

Precise detail of each parting of thighs;

 Rose, she lit upon me, endeavoured to maim

My essence, my manhood, my infidel lies.

 No recourse to excuses, I stood there froze,

Wanting to tear out my cancer, my tumour,

 That had disembowelled innocent, frail Rose,

So I embraced assault, with no murmur.

  And on that thunderous night I fled,

  To my other, more inviting bed.

© menshallknownothingofthis.co.uk 28.05.2009

 Brandishing my heartiest smile,

I shuffle over to the ruffled Athena,

 A natural beaut, of earth for a while,

Whose stance evokes a pasture greener.

 Uncertain of approach, I introduce,

Giving name and job in quick succession,

 The glaze of her eyes incites a common truce,

A comforting sign of meek submission.

 Ensnared so quickly, but who hunted who?

All too easy, like a deer in the headlights,

 I wonder if I was the hunted, cut through,

By subconscious attractions from her sights?

  Outflanked, surrendering before the war's begun,

  She takes my hand; without a toil she's won.

© menshallknownothingofthis.co.uk 30.05.2009