Sonnet ( III ) By Elcypher

What profit shall befit my soul?
To dread the absurd form
That in gravity prove gruesome
And, to naughtiness rend;
My feeble faith to counter this.

Is it the dark' that mark' the night?
To conjure up shadow
Which rarity bids none to know
But, in reality dares;
My feeble faith to counter this.

Where does the creed promise to lead?
To estrange the common.
That, in essence no more sojourn
Yet, avow to still plague;
My feeble faith to counter this.

O, what grace lies not in thy brace?
To jolt not as to count
Which bounties has thee as fount
Shall I not come uphold;
My feeble faith to counter this.

El cypher.