Sonnet - Go

[the_downtrodden]

Go

Bid thee, rid me of thy sight;
Thy place and thy face doth fright
and boil my life's blood hot
to see't twere be what twere't not.
Thy form betwixt my bode's walls
and spir't haunting my mind's halls
doth ever contended be,
and doth deep offend of me.
I pray't never't see thy hair
nor ever't feel thy self there
that I op't my poor heart to
and my torture't soul pass't throu'.
Never 'gain cross my lone path,
or thou, 'lone, doth tasteth wrath,
for 'twixt thy sheets hath thou sin,
but thou injures me ne'er 'gain.

-K'Har-El