Sonnet 145
The thing of it is, you see
this brightly colored deceit
displaying all the many charms of art
a cunning deception of hints and hues
this mystery hidden in a riddle
disguised as an epigram which
sheer flattery duels attempting to evade
its stark horror and false syllogisms
each dawn vanquishing its vanities
triumphing over age and oblivion
with forgiveness and forgetfulness
The thing of it is, you see
Contrivance, vanity, artifice
delicate kisses stranded in the wind
failed joint defenses against our fate
a one way journey, a terrible mistake
a decrepit frenzy, more rightly viewed
as a corpse, some dust, a shadow
best perhaps as mere nothingness
The thing of it is, you see
We are all illegitimate
And have no standing
When it comes to this…
Liberatore Suffoletta
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