Now, here, I see the error of my ways;
For long I’ve contemplated–laying blame
On all events long past–my fear, my shame.
And still, mine own inaction now betrays
This dagger of deceit on which I gaze.
Though masking cowardice with pride, I came
To this unseemly state–my heart aflame
With thee–replete with thine own sickly praise.
But how was I to know: no fate was worse
Than live a tragic life bereft of thee?
How could there more malevolent a curse
Than rob us of our only destiny?
Did we do right by running then, or did
We simply kill the dream for which we hid?
This sonnet is part of a short sequence; click here to read it all:
David Emeron: Sonnets 
I have no words for this but that it is sad and beautiful.
The evil orb is about to rise and feel melancholy with the coming of the day, my love.
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And Hypnos’ Spawn doth take mee.
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Hello! This is wonderful! I thoroughly enjoyed this, fantastic imagery “dagger of deceit”… “sickly praise,” and most of all you can feel the emotion in the words instead of a feeling of something being forced. That’s always the problem I have with composing poetry…I don’t want it to be “composed.” Well done. Oh, and thanks for stopping by my blog and following :) I sincerely appreciate it…it is by no means a high caliber blog, but I hope it entertains.
Dx
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Thank you. I am most sure it will… In fact, I am there as I write this. And thank you. I believe, and this may be true for most anyone, that it takes real feeling, particularly to have such things come across in structured poetry–even in freeverse, of which I have written a great deal, and which comprised most of my poetry. At least until this month; as, these six months now, I have been writing sonnet(s) each day.
For me it took love. If one feels these things, one’s skill is less important. It does come across. This is why, for example Keat’s second book positively sizzles compared with his first–or why it did for me, it would be more fair to say.
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