May 30, 2006
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A Petrarchan Sonnet
Judgment Day
We struggle, not for reason but for none
Born free, to be born strong, but bonded weak
For judgment day comes sooner than you think
The very day we work and worm the warren
As our eyes first behold the bold bright sun
The wide world from its well will wish us drink
And write our path to follow into ink
Foretelling of a soul so sadly fallen
I miss my crooked teeth and always did
That's what I was to be, I still believe
I haven't been myself, not ever since
I miss the folds in which my penis hid
A womb I'll never know, my winter's sleeve
Whence could the inner boy to man evince
Comments (3)
don't see many of these written these days.
nice to see you are still writing, andy.
seriously, this is like the 3rd poem I've read about penises that never wanted to be circumsized
^today
today may be a reckoning day for them nerve endings
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