Sonnet: The Soul Gets Impure Thus
Like how dust settles on a clean surface,
Like how the mirror loses silvering,
Like how hair grows on clean-shaven a face;
And impure gold is called gold-covering!
Like how the leaves fall on the swept foot-path,
Like how the paint with time becomes off hue;
Like how the skin gets dirty after bath;
Like how money corrupts the saintly few!
Like how fresh morning air gets polluted;
Like how the rain muddies the clear water;
Like how bad habits get strongly rooted;
With time, the mind that’s pure will soon falter.
For sinful thoughts invade the mind and soul,
And man forgets his God-given main role.
poem by John Celes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
