Sonnet 12
no sport lending play nor giving mind diversion:
all faculties dead to present, future, and fate:
will unformed and bent to no inspired reason:
disbarred from freedom, in isolated restraint:
dull soul in solitude confined to prison:
no company to silence by visitation made:
alone with heart bereft of will and passion:
in solitude soul to single soul betrayed:
all alone with self and my own soul,
a narrow world in which no love revolves,
in want of wisdom and acting the fool,
no key turns and self no solitude solves.
physician love! creator of this mortal speck,
heal your creation! evil infection i detect.
poem by Doug Bentley
Added by Poetry Lover
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