Sonnet XXXIV: A smidgeon of morality

I scrub a blot of moral code on my

Person. I wake up to mildewed pledges

Devoid of character. Unsure, I try

Washing off those layers, blunting edges

That once cut gaping crevices in my

Conscience. Guilty, I, once bled profusely

With penitence abounding. Now belie

All I stood by. Now, just hanging loosely,

I stare at all that’s come undone, and how,

Wonder wherefore rectitude confined me

Or was I too indulgent to avow,

All this while, the comforting majesty

Of bending moral fibre, wishfully.

That’s all we do, that’s all that has to be.