foolish, imaginary

as from the fickleness of fortune
or the favors of men
so should i from thee flee,
trusting nothing of this vanity
that is my constant torture;
flights of fancy soar in a sour mind
and raging inconsistencies
of Desire my conscience blinds
not knowing whether or when
my concupiscent sin will be revealed–
for it is not just Desire,
but inordinate Desire that rages, burning
deep within, staining all things
with a yellowed, bitter yearning
for that which cannot be.
foolish, imaginary…

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