Sonnet: Gone

Through countless centuries you’ve gone with me.
You’ve followed me from world to world it seems;
To other galaxies and into dreams
Of lands that never were or will not be.

Whenever from I call, you’ve heard my voice,
So ready to be taken to the place,
From which I, longing, called to you. Your face,
Alight with angels’ fire, so too, with joys

Of more, and greater, joy which was to come;
Of promised beauty that you knew you’d see;
Of past events whose fabric only we
Would touch; of futures, countless, and wherefrom
My dreams, if held alone, could not come true—
So meaningless, if not because of you.

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Intro: Everything I Do

The second time she
asked me to write a sonnet,
this is what I wrote.

Everything I write
is for my wife. Has always
been. Shall ever be.

Everything I do,
my very life. As much hers
As it is for me.

Hers is every word
as I write, or as I read–
graphite, ink, or throat.

I think I may have gotten carried away there. So I might as well present in proper format all of the above.

Written in July of 2012. Does it count, or not?