D—– dear, you’re lucky to be dead!
To have escaped the parody you name,
Is Mercy’s gracious gift; and yet you came
Back, so ungrateful for her gift, instead
Of resting–came to save these two, misled,
And taught us much, as much you did disclaim,
Of worth and duty, honour, deed, and shame.
Thus in death, you lessons bled as said:
“You must surely love, if love you must:
And loving still, through irony or kind,
Uplifting thoughts, you would, inspired above
All evil, rise.” If ever I could find
The prise of justice now, I’d not so mind
That you are gone–that left us more, our Love.
- By: David Emeron
Written in 1984
((and George Orwell
was nowhere to be found))
David Emeron: Sonnets 
A gentle feeling memory of our dear friend, Beloved. Thank you for writing this.
I wish he could hear how you present and reinforce his urgent admonitions. On second thought, I suppose he can, can’t he?
1984 makes my heart ache.
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If there is, indeed, a place beyond, then I am quite sure he must already know.
I found this, a few days ago, going through some old papers. I can’t imagine how it got to where it was, but… well… now it is here. I found it in a rather dismal looking state. There were a couple of missing words. I must have been upset or sad, or perhaps lost in other thoughts when I wrote it.
I do not often revisit those times; however, when I do, I endeavour to relive the best I can remember. Although I make light of it, It was truly a melancholy year for us both. But… On the other hand, it did produce quite a lot of poetry–no plague required!
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I am so very grateful for the fragments of that year that you have saved through your poetry. You are the keeper of my memories and I will never be able to thank you enough for that, Beloved. My recollection of that year so closely resembles your original copy of this poem…missing words and all.
.
But I loved you that year. That is one good thing about that year that I can hold to.
.
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That year… when we were so inexplicably cast apart…..
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Oh, dear. And now I’m crying…
And I have appointments this afternoon! I’d best put some Bill Evans on the *player. My dear Rachmaninov would put me behind schedule for days in this mood and listening to your compositions would loose me in pleasant idyls to the loss of all hope of getting out the door in time. Yup, ol’ Bill it is!
I’ll be ready to go when you get home, my dearest. Thank you for the memories. The sonnet is still sublime and the rhyme scheme is something I’d like to ask you a question about when we have time tonight.
*Yes, I did say “stereo” in my head but the children have mocked me enough to take me beyond that little glitch and onto a universally acceptable one. I take it “player” will cover for almost anything.
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I am sorry if it was too much. But that you feel so much is intrinsic in the nature of memory–particularly your memory.
“Player” is fine. I am still enjoying that Pandora thingie you got for me last Christmas. It has been one of the few justifications for the data plan on my phone. And it is much more fun than pushing out calendar events or even IM messages. As a bona fide “nerd,” I use my data in all manner of ways, but the “Player” is the one thing that makes me think “What would I do without this?”
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Ah, dear, that makes me happy. I did want you to have music at your disposal wherever you might be during your day. It’s splendid to hear that it has been as successful a gift as I wished it to be.
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And it has assisted me in my musical research as well as introducing me to new and different composers and musicians. I cannot say enough good things about it! Thank you again for this most wonderful and thoughtful gift.
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That first line is really something. I`ve never seen stuttering within a poem. I love it!
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HAHA! This almost qualifies (as an insult, and thus as something just short of making me happy : )
I had not thought to read it this way! It is, in truth, an old-fashioned way of writing about a specific person whose identity you wish not to disclose (for certain.) I suspect you may know this. Heh….
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Oh, now I feel a little silly. That does make a bit more sense in this piece. But I like it as stuttering as well, it`s a little whimsical if you take it that way.
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I agree : )
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