Category Archives: Sonnets

Sonnets, or anything I call by that name. Sometimes an invented sonnet-like form.

Sonnet: Lucky

Posted by David Emeron on

How can it be that three such friends are blest
With symmetry sublime, doth fit with grace?
What joy, when maketh bonds, that do they see
Such lives so delicately interlace?

So beautifully sinful are they pressed
As each to one another, as they dance;
Yet faithful, and sublime felicity,
Doth somehow over all and each advance.

When first I saw them, to myself, professed
That they, with all my strength, would I protect;
And swore, to this, an oath of secrecy
An any, give me aid, must needs respect;

And thank Whate’er professéd deity
Who brought to light these blesséd, lucky, three.

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Sonnet: Utopia

Posted by David Emeron on

O Let us rant, O young, for soon we die,
Too old to matter, let us have our say;
For soon enough, your will your hand shall try;
Time cometh soon that might you have your day.

If you succeed, you’ll not respect the dead,
But jeer and mock us all within our graves;
But old are we, who’ve seen so many tread,
And end, as ill, their chosen path as slaves.

So time and time again, your plans will fail;
But ne’er will you remember how we warned;
By then, our warning will to no avail;
Nor, of us, memory, but were we scorned.

If honest, you would scorn yourselves as well;
Deep down, this brave new world, you knew were Hell.

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Sonnet: Lost

Posted by David Emeron on

Here! the poet’s immortal spirit take.
Though long I have betrayed its inner voice,
And wrote, instead, of love, indeed of choice.
I preached the lie of joy. And though I wake

At night to dreams so horrible they make
Me scream for mercy to a God whose Joys
I shall not ever know; could I rejoice
In some God’s misery for His own sake?

I criticized that fool; yet I am he.
The very fool who lives with naught but grief.
My shallow, poet’s soul shall always be
A measure of society’s belief.
I’ve fought this ugly truth to my last breath;
With nothing to look forward to, save death.

Sonnet: Faith

Posted by David Emeron on

My Lord, what is this folly, curse or prize
That Thou hast given to this child of Thine;
Perhaps, an answer to a prayer of mine;
Perhaps, an irony which satisfies

My very heart? Yet should I emphasize
The very art–particularly fine–
With which I am denied that sweetest wine:
That wish come true? If Thou wert truly wise,

Or simply knew what works of Thine were done,
I cannot but believe that gift would be
A sweetly kind and patronizing one;
Demanding nothing very real from me.
Considering the works I’ve done for Thee,
Couldst not Thou simply deign to set me free?

Sonnet: Safe

Posted by David Emeron on

Is it starlight–doth shimmer down from sky,
Bereft of cloud, that doth pretend such grace?
And is it moonlight, floating down, as show
She doth, configuration’s subtle face–

As though, to cover all, she doth thereby
Intrude, and douse these tiny candles–cool,
As her reflection, ripples undergo,
With counter-sparkle in a quiet pool?

Is it lamplight–that doth she overfly
From out a window, for its calm, perform?
Or is it firelight, setting us aglow,
For which she doth abound, surrounding warm?

Her hand, doth she, Romantic, try her charm
Protecting us from storm, and so from harm.

Sonnet: Powerless

Posted by David Emeron on

Once spoken, sweet perfection cannot wane
Before the fleeting hour, nor the year;
The truth is stronger still than all the fear
Which once kept vigil over our domain.

Once felt, the spoken truth is carved at last
In virtue’s medium the truth requires:
The stone or clay perfection’s gift inspires;
The whole of this, our truth, is thus so vast.

Once heard, such music cannot be denied,
For, doing so would be a travesty,
And even if such truth is made to hide,
The trueness of it speaks in majesty.

Once touched, I knew the many years would melt,
So powerless to curb the art we felt.

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