To know is half a battle fought without
the wisdom born of fear. You may not care
to taste revenge until it’s brought about.
And only those who have it could declare

that beauty doesn’t matter. It’s the sweet
scent of her marrow, not the maiden, that
will bring the creature to her hand. Deceit
will take you far enough. The world’s not flat

but full of waiting evil, and the stars
are out of reach. All men and women, yes,
all, speak both lies and truth, and hide their scars.
And there are things they won’t have told you, as

you must know; there are things they won’t until
you understand the things they never will.

Note: An assigned sonnet
in somewhat iambic, somewhat contrived pentameter.

gothic unicorn