A Senseless Sonnet

poison berries, so simple yet seductive,

Brambles beckoning like a throne beckons to

a Crown —sinking its thorns deep as if they grew

there  a blasé bloodlust, a careless corruptive,

that burrows deep in flesh as if vindictive

violence would turn those berry brambles new

—smooth out their thankless thorns with mild morning dew—

deluded to think Poison isn't addictive  

the Cycle, the berry Bramble, finds its way,

it's how it has been and it's how it will be,

the Crown imbedded deep in flesh guaranteed,

the comforting curse-like Cycle passed down

from kings, damnatio memoriae,

kings to damnéd kings, who wear the Bramble Crown.