Sonnet: My Friend

When hope’s last touch had, ever weary, left;
And never, solace opened up her arms;
Sweet dreams pervading comfort had been reft;
And fertile life had quitted of her charms.

Life, seeming ended, ever lingered on;
And pity choked her ever-ringing word.
It seemed as though I were a passing pawn
Unheeding of all joy and never heard.

When panic reared his dreaded mask, I had
To desperately seek to task this ache.
Instead, you offered friendship. (I was glad
To take whatever kindness I could take.)

Though first, it seemed your offering was small,
What magic, that you gave a gift at all!

  • One more for Jena:
    Though never would a hundred
    Ever be enough.

Sonnet VII: Lucky

It’s true, I always get what I desire,
But most of my desires rest in you.
Such boyish dreams, but definitely knew
What would, in all complexity, transpire;

I knew the field, I knew the world entire;
And this, that every wish of mine came true.
I saw our lives as they began anew,
And understood what life would then require.

That both of us, so perfectly sincere;
So very much as when we first began;
And now, as once we did, we would declare;
As strong as ever once, and as severe;
And all our long tomorrows, better than
Our yesterdays; and all beyond compare.

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


Sonnet VI: Nurtured Nature

I lay in thought, while others raced ahead.
Until I understood what friendship was.
I chose to look, while others leapt  instead,
And learned what loving is, and what it does.

I searched inside, while many never could,
To troll the depths and nature of desire,
Though scorned, I searched until I understood
The metal that would fealty require.

I learned; and kept  my friendship, burning love,
And deep desire, gilt like royalty;
For now, I knew the worth and nature of
Such strong emotions wrapped in loyalty:

So nurtured, close together, as they grew,
Until the day I gave them all to you.

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


Sonnet V: Bad Times

Love, have I hurt you, yet you love me still;
When I am bitter; still you understand;
You knew I was alone, and took my hand;
And knew I loved you as I always will.

Love me, as I love you, though you’ve hurt me;
So fine you are, how could I but forgive;
The girl whose magic taught a boy to live;
The woman who would teach a man to see.

We never let our circumstance prevail;
And ever after felt our bold belief;
What power, this, may triumph over grief;
And leaves but little meaningless travail.

Not fire for strength, to grist the mill, nor more
To climb–No hill–but bad times to ignore.

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