Sonnet VII

The door is locked, the perfect view to hide,
But no one thinks to try the knob.
The warm
Design of letters carved in wood, the wide,
Artistic swirls become a person’s form.
To peer into a soul unveiled would turn
Our hearts away. To watch desire play
Upon a vow with muddy feet would burn
The eyes. To hear defiance scream would fray
The fabric of the mind. To feel the steel
Of mirror-gazers’ thoughtless deeds would kill
The joy of love. The lock is mercy’s shield
To guard the gift of brotherly goodwill.
Yet there is One who wields the lock and key,
And He alone delights to dwell with me.

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