So both have we
So yearned…
So hid…
Category Archives: Sonnets with Introductions
Sonnet VIII: For Thy Rest
I would now that I might have been thy bed.
So dark a night it was that wouldst thou sleep
And, weary, rest–a child in my keep–
Upon my breast thy fair and frightened head.
And calm, indeed, to sleep as I have said:
No want or need forgotten whilst thou weep’
To heal thy soul. A drink of comfort, deep,
Would make thee whole again, my child, instead
Of being broke; to smile for me again
When next thou woke‘, and look into mine eyes;
And I would see my Sister gazing up
To smile at me–a smile I would prize
Above all pleasure. For, devoid of pain,
Would grace and measure ever fill her cup.
This sonnet is part of a short sequence; click here to read it all:
Intro 8: Thy Bed
Would, I might have been
Your bed on so dark a night;
Dark that you would sleep.
Rest now weary child.
In my keep, upon my breast
Rest your frightened head.
Calm indeed, you’ll sleep,
No want or need forgotten
You’ll weep, as I said,
And your soul will heal.
Drink you, deep, of comfort, child
And again be whole
Instead, not broken.
When you wake and smile at me,
Look into my eyes,
Sister, I would see
You’d gaze up and smile at me
A smile I’d prize
Above all pleasure
In this, would grace and measure
Ever fill your cup.
Sonnet VII: Perfection
In moments, lived we our own genesis.
In dreams we wake into our own domain.
It is as though our burden to abstain
From one another no abstention is.
And though it may be years between each kiss,
Each kiss is thus more perfect porcelain,
Pristine in all its power to sustain
Me and propel me further into bliss.
It is as though mere seconds passed between
These honey-sweet perfections that we share.
For after each, my passion, love, and mien
Are stronger still and are more deep and rare.
If ever God had made a thing so fine;
It must be thee, this perfect love of mine.
This sonnet is part of a short sequence; click here to read it all:
Intro 7: Seconds
every second
was proof
of that
which every
year, or
even every
life, would
hold
Sonnet VI: Misdeeds
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:
Intro 6: Sin
No worse a sin
Than taking God’s Gift of love,
And casting it aside,
For whatever reason.
David Emeron: Sonnets 