Monthly Archives: January 2015

Sonnet: Shrug

Posted by David Emeron on

If Atlas’ Eyes were burning from our stain
Of  festering foul collectivization;
Shrieking of our dehumanization,
Bloody streamt His Ears with piercing pain;

His Arms, and Knees, and Shoulders, bled with strain
With the weight of our dying population;
Retching! from the stench of our starvation;
Weakening Resolve! at our disdain

For men who build; who might, His Burden, ease.
So, would ye dare to task Him; “Hold Thou, Muse!
One moment more, ’til we depose these smug,

“Self-righteous beasts!  No more! shall we appease
Esurience’s philanthropic ruse!”?
Or fear our thousand-years, and bid Him “Shrug!”?

Kiss Me~Music Inspired | RL King:A Written World

Posted by David Emeron on

Fold me into your deep embrace
I ask just once, I lower a mask, show a tender, timid face
A face of love and need and heart and trust
Ask for you once, before this moment scatters as dust

Lead me into a place of warm abode, a safety I’ve not felt
Into the places of you, I beg to melt
How a soul can feel this close to mine,
…inside, flushing heart through spine,
…slicing bone
Turning about in a turbine,
…mind, heart,
…spinning in high pitched tone

So lean into my breath and lips,
Flush with me, through all the colours that love shades and splits
While insides turn outward, and outsides in
Bring me close, to find we are both warm and safe within

Words have finished their paths, reached a scorching, fired end
Bring skin to skin,
…a heart thunders for every synapse that every nerve can send
This is what was written
…in every book since dawn of time
So now…not another word,
I need to make you…body and soul…mine.

 

Sonnet: Thieves

Posted by David Emeron on

Through turns and twists, an endless beat, we ran;
I’d spurn the mists, descend to meet with thee.
We’d turn a bend upon a stone, and we
Would earn an end, and on our own, began.

But for a while–and never knowing when–
Once more to smile, then time to go, it was.
Through turns, we twist, an endless beat, and us
Returned, we list, pretend, and meet again.

You’d wrest some rest from lies and flight, and stole
From me some paradise, not quite forlorn.
I took, from you, a measure of that sworn
A garden, too. You stole no treasure, whole;
But gave us shrift, though magical and brief.
Forgiveness gifts me gratitude, my thief!