Sonnet 2

Nothing is wrong with me is wrong with me,
To "Know Thyself" is to pray for sweet death,
For thy chameleon's strength is what I flee,
Vast tundra my only friend till last breath,
Companions served to me on empty plate,
No logic for thy pendulum to swing,
and our passions kept low it is our fate,
As our phallic creates let death it bring.
For thy God within becomes entombed
As an explosion of evil our rebirth;
Let thy new child grow in thy old world's womb,
and have her eyes open and see my worth,
Then from thy abyss my soul shall take flight,
Till then, curse thee all to eternal night.

by David L. Wilson

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