Sonnet I: No More

No touch, no sleep, no rest, no love like mine
For thee, shall ere console me in my place
Of rest.  No more shall any weight of thine
My breast console.  No more, thy fairest face,

Within my whole creation be contained.
No more shall I awaken, feel my heart
And thine, and should not feel that there be twain.
Not rhythm, nor our beings, be made to part.

No more shall flesh be moved nor move mine own
By neither wish, nor thought, nor even touch,
To such a fervent height as we have known–
As only I and thou have felt this much.

Must I, in perpetuity, endure
No more, no more, no more, no more… no more….

This sonnet is part of a short sequence; click here to read it all:


Sonnet: Kept Faith

Have faith, my sweet, believe that I will rise
As high as life requires, at the least.
So quiet then the tears within thine eyes.
I promise, certain as is life, increased

Beyond that borderline, shall I release
Decisively, and with resolve, reprise
My triumphs past, and so surpassed, appease
Divinity herself; such feats, she’d prize.

For thee, within the chance of life, I thrive;
In everything I do or may achieve.
With thee, I cannot help but ever strive
To manifest such feats as we conceive.
For thee, and with thee, I am come alive.
For thee, and with thee, if thou but believe.


Sonnet: Heart’s Desire

First day I saw this Universe take flight,
My place within it firmly on the Earth,
And since that moment–from my second birth–
Did I begin to live amidst the light.

The second day I learned of what I might–
What stark perfection I would–never touch,
Nor even look upon but once. But such,
For lack of which, has swept me hence to night.

The Third, in all its perfect form, arrived
On Earth and granted all that I desire,
Left nothing by its dawning to aspire
Nor any by its dawning thus to strive.
So, having every life’s desire to choose
Leaves naught to gain and everything to lose.


Sonnet VII: Lotus

I lid mine eyes, yet not in sleep, but wake;
Not hid to prize the darkness, nor to see;
Nor magnify some other sense; nor be
Bereft of beauty; nor once more forsake

The heft of duty, as a way to break
The thrall of such cacophonous debris.
Nor shall so thin a veil set me free
From youthful ties, nor hail its mistake,

Nor truth, nor lies, but merely grant repose;
Which waking purpose, clearly, I’m inclined
To take, whenever I may know such throws
Of agony or bliss. And when I find
Such irony as this, I then expose
Myself, to all the wealth, in all my mind.

This sonnet is part of a short sequence; click here to read it all: