Not Picture of nor moving frame
Can compensate a once done deed,
An all conquering lust for flesh
No wandering hand can deceive.
Inept in man burns his desires
A weakness?
Untrue?
Once believed.
A foggy face though haunting still,
Seems more ideal
than one of dreams.

Seeds sown by one who'll never reap
the fruits of time
of lessons learned.
The fall from high now feels redeemed,
And Grace,
by virtue; honour earned.
Yet,
Not seen by eyes intentions wished,
Wrought changes made in Vain?
How sentiments insist on this,
Mistakes not made again.