Sonnet

To feel the never-ending drum

Of conscience, and to hide the face

Behind the mask of false disguise

Is proof that cold blood rules our race.

This blood which man himself makes numb

By all the ice around the space

Where life begins, the first demise,

And through the heart we lose all trace.

But, through the soul – here, truth we see –

Is Light withstanding well known Sin

Which teases, prods, and breaks within

Foundations Faith has built for me.

So, Pain, I know, cannot begin

Unless I cease pursuing Thee.