More Shakespeare's Sonnets
By Fox-Trot-9

Sonnet 59: Fair Youth
(Guilt 8)

The memory would make the eyes to bleed,
The heart to quake, leaving me bled and harried;
How easily the face betrays the deed,
Although the deed itself lies dead and buried.
Curse the fell night that chains me to the pangs
Of conscience! Life is but a hall of mirrors,
Showing me grim examples of my wrongs
In every face, expressions filled with horrors!
Such is the chain to which my soul is bound,
That nothing is more dismal than the mind
Brooding on hateful thoughts that have me crowned,
"The woeful prince of penitence defined,"
      So says the plaque of shame above my head,
      My proper epitaph when I am dead!

(To be continued...)

A/N: Here's yet another addition to this most epic sonnet sequence... Read, ponder, be amazed... ( ^_^ )