Untitled… (Sonnet 17, Q9)

Is there a way to veracity

not laden with malicious snares?

Is the endeavour for honesty

one the minority has to bear?

Does the superlative umpire

know the extent of imperfection?

Senses forever fuel desire

feebleness yields a failed election.

Spirits are trapped, with fleshy guise

Corrupted minds bemuse noble hearts

What does it mean to be of the wise?

Is the life an intricate art?

Innermost such verse a heavenly noose

Self inflicted by an evil truce.

Thabiso Nkoana©2001