Sonnet: Eternity

Through all eternity, through each farewell,
I call to thee; as I–as we endure
As much as do the fates our world compel–
Divine this hidden answer; this foretell:

Thy true, thy bidden answer, when away
My call to thee, past all, who as one, ban,
Decry, forbid, constrict with venom, they–
Impeach with venom anything we say.

Yet each untasted word of thine will fall
Upon my  ear–will call to me; sublime
Mellifluence will sweet me to thy call,
Will taste me through such venom, one and all.

Such ardour hidden, heard I all the more–
That none would quell since first our life began–
Would call thee to my side through space and time.


17 responses to “Sonnet: Eternity

  1. Such passion and yet, so full of grace.

    That none would quell since first our life began–
    Would call thee to my side through space and time.

    I feel these words in my bones….I can relate to these in such a personal way. East and South still call to each other. They say when separated, the first thing one forgets is the voice of the other. I say, I would recognize his voice and call through space and time as if the space and time were the measurement of a blink and not a world away.

    I think I’ll go and fix chicken kiev for our dinner tonight. such poetry demands such food.


    • Pounding chicken breasts, fixing a complex herb butter, making the chicken/butter packages, carefully deep frying, artistically plating, cutting into the hot chicken and watching the buttet and herbs swirl on the plate, putting that first morsel in ones mouth….no mere meal of meatloaf would suffice after reading such a poem.


    • That sparks and even older–decades older–memory. Every moment with someone you love can be priceless and perfect; but still… Sometimes there are those perfect evenings. Everything happens for a reason. Everything is perfect. Company, Talk, Food, Drink, Trip, Surroundings… Everything. I have a very few memories like that. Perfection in every moment. Everything unplanned. Just happening. Perfect.


    • Then you know exactly what I meant – passionate food for passionate poetry. Giving hubby yet another excuse to ask, when are you going to start writing real poetry? I just said, honey, some things are better than real poetry – spoken in a honey sweet drawl. So now, he is beginning to think better of my poetry,but has a hard time with the minimalistic (his view) words/pictures. I hope we live long enough together to be sitting side by side one day and say….remember that exceptional chicken kiev?


    • I hope your cooking went well : ) You may (Or may not) have noticed that this is rather a sonnet + 1, in that it has an extra line. This is an attempt at writing a form I discovered by accident some months ago while adapting an old 12 line poem in octameter to a sonnet-like form.

      Mrs. Emeron cries every time she tries to read it.


    • Heh! At least she is a real person!! When I grow up, I would like to be just like a character I write about. I suppose he started out as an alter-ego, but soon transcended that.

      Strange how these things happen. I just write/tell stories to delight Mrs. Emeron, and for no other reason. And somehow, this young man I invented ended up being someone I look up to. I do often ask myself what he would think or do in a given situation. It often causes me to pause and take a minute. And, at the end of that minute, the action I take is all the finer and more considered.


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