Three Sonnets, Three Steps of Growth

The solitude quarantine ordains makes self-reflection inevitable; be it day or night, each of my hours in recent months are spent in reflecting, contemplating, and revisiting. During the school year, I do not have the chance to do so, since my mind is rather more preoccupied by the upcoming test or by the new group project one of my teachers assigns. But now that my regular life as a student has come to a halt, I find myself much more pensive and sentimental; instead of pursuing grades, ability, or accomplishments, now I ruminate upon things I have not visited for a long time: my character, my flaws, and my sins.

No man is a saint; no woman is an angel. I am no exception. My moments of immaturity, moral lapses, ethical failures continue to haunt me. It is well said that we are punished by, not for, our sins; now this punishment is at its most intense phase. I often wallow in remorse, wishing that I did not say that hurtful thing or did not do that bad deed. Gradually, these sins become a burden on a shoulder, increasingly heavy, until my conscience can bear no longer.

I often write poetry as a form of self-expression, and, driven by these thoughts, I wrote three sonnets on the subject of sinning and redemption. When I reread my work composed over the span of two or three months, I find it amusing how my own attitude towards sin changed radically over time.

Those are three sonnets, in the Petrarchan form, of the octave-sestet structure, in ABBA ABBA CDE CDE rhyme scheme. Here is the first, composed around mid-April:

Bury my sins, O ceaseless time, whose force

Discriminates not between fair and foul.

My past of shame, to none, but thee doth bow;

Much fair I lose, but march on with thy course.

The lost precious times incur no remorse,

When, borne by thee, the future may allow

A newer glory: no guilt vex me now.

New hopes, new dreams admit thee as their source.

Pray carry me, dissolve my ancient strife

That is no more. Let my tears and errs fade

In thy flow; let old sorrows die and end.

Thy cleansing river doth revive a life

From me alone and those who me upbraid.

Naught than thy tender hands may better mend.

This poem is sufficient to exemplify my initial attitude towards redemption: waiting idly for time to wash away everything. The poem is a plea that time can “bury my sins” and bring me relief with its “cleansing river” and “tender hands”. I was quite content with this work: it has a decent theme, employs good and meaningful poetic devices like iambic pentameter, enjambment, personification, etc.

But then I realize, time is not enough to cleanse away my sins. I began to disagree with the theme of my very work when I realized that idle waiting only makes me languish in my own guilt. I needed a new vehicle for growth.

This is another poem of the same form, composed around late May.

Spare me not, thou spear of justice, from whence

I, a sinner, may learn good from evil.

Censure me, chastise me, break me feeble,

For I, save thy assault, have no defense

‘gainst the devil: I grow at pain’s expense.

‘Tis from thy wound, blood, violent upheavals,

That I may renew, so be not civil.

Only thou may from error take me hence.

For having once been hurt, I may now stand

Anew; and now I grew, worthy to wield

Thee, and put thee to new use. Now I fear

No foe of justice, with thee in my hand,

Nor would I to luring temptations yield —

An upright man, though devils abound near.

On a mechanical level, I liked this work of mine better since it employed a more sophisticated conceit: comparing justice and punishment to a spear and wishing that it may not be merciful when it attacks me. In the octave (first eight lines), I present myself as a willing victim who welcomes this spear to “censure me, chastise me, break me feeble”, since “I grow at pain’s expense”. In the sestet (last six lines), I become an active soldier who now is “worthy to wield” this weapon. Having been renewed by pain, I am now “an upright man”.

The central theme of this poem is that punishment is what makes one grow; I am willing to be punished so that I can be better acquainted with morality and justice. In comparison with the first poem, I have become more active and more earnest in my quest for growth.

This journey, however, culminated in my third poem of the same form:

Black sin from youth, release, and let me go.

Thou heir of my childish and thoughtless past,

Whose sojourn on me, O, I pray not last,

Hast sought in vain a conquest of my soul.

Too long, too long thou hast my mind control,

Yet future’s great expanse is far more vast.

Nor canst thou rival time, which cleanses fast:

The knell of death my age for thee doth toll.

Of all thy foes, dark blemish, O, beware

My labor, patience, kindness, love the most;

My earnest heart, my loyal soul deserves

To claim thy death; no longer will I bare

Thy scar, or let thee be my conscience’s host.

My heart is purged when it in silence serves.

In this poem, I explicitly declare a “black sin” that constantly seeks a “conquest of my soul” and the rest of the work is how to defeat this enemy. In the second quatrain, I seem to be repeating the message of my first poem: wishing time can wash away my sins (“nor canst thou rival time, which cleanses fast). The sestet of the poem, however, is the true finish line of my journey of growth. Instead of waiting for time to do the work, I actively seek to purge my sins through “labor, patience, kindness, love”. Ultimately, the final line in the poem may be the ultimate revelation of my entire period of growth: my heart is purged when it in silence serves.

My heart is purged when it in silence serves.

My first poem focuses on time, my second on punishment, my third on labor. Successively, each poem becomes more and more proactive, earnest, and mature. From an idle waiter, to a willing victim, to finally a diligent servant, my worldview towards ethics and redemption crawled from infancy to adulthood. Most important, I found a way to relieve myself of my sins and to become a renewed person: service. By being kind, serving others, helping selflessly, my black sin from youth can be forever forgotten.

Nowadays, I look at these three pieces of poetry as though they are photographs of three stages in my life. Reflecting on this journey, I am glad that I found my answer in the end.