Sunday, November 13, 2016

Niagara Sonnet Twelve

A voice cries out, I dare not turn my head,
the abyss is deep and to its depths I see
it red with flame or blood! Turn away thee,
fatal path, woe to those who want me dead.
I shall not touch the wound that gored so deep,
make not faithful love the duty of a wife,
she is fortunate without their passion's strife.
Incumbents of religion now would weep,
if no one would oppose mental cruelty;
for this has been a battered, silent church,
not one voice uttered not one febrile word,
to encourage some brutal brass fealty.
There is always tomorrow to resolve
the hearts of our dear marriages dissolved.

Emily Isaacson