Sonnet

Standing unmoved, peaceful and lost to time
Upon a crockery case, a brass disc
Sleeps the rooms slumber light in gentle mist
Metal yellow; O the hour slaved designs.
There etched is cryptic art in circled lines
Centripetal, where seq serpents resist.
Magic mould—only poesy can insist
The meaning as truth where beauty reclines.
What doth this lauded object offer me?
From the face close pitted like eyes black locked
I see to well my heart's inconstancy.
An artifact achieved this? I am shocked!
I have been fed a soul hidden message:
Purity is guilt's gained heritage.

Stephen Oliver