Sonnet XI: I Promise

For Thou art she from whom my Manna flows
And Thou art she for whom I do exist
For Thee I have become a hedonist
For Thee Mine own Desire always grows

For Thou art She from whom my Love arose
And Thou art She with whom I do entwist
For Thee I live with Joy from tryst to tryst
For Thee I Write all Poetry and Prose

For Thee I undertake the mundane world
For Thee I go about my daily deeds
For Thee I show my inner self unfurled
For Thee I set aside all other needs

For Thee I Undertake the Pain to Learn
And Thee To Whom I Someday Will Return

This sonnet is part of a short sequence; click here to read it all:

Advertisements

Sonnet X: Sister

But cleft in twain my heart still yearns for thee;
I yearn to see the magic of thy smile;
I long to hear and see the dreams which we
Have always manifested; all the while

Denying to our other worlds the fact
That this discreet perfection had a name.
It lived, in every thought and deed and act
Which in our lives the other would proclaim.

It cannot be enough to kiss and hold;
For it is thee with whom I am in love.
I love not even life as much as thee.

I only dream of when I may behold
My sweet companion–whom I hold above
All earthly deeds–this sister who loves me.

This sonnet is part of a short sequence; click here to read it all:

Sonnet IX: Extremes

Can aught unite this nature’s pain and grace?
Can any magic unify these twain?
I wish to see the ending of this pain
Which lives eternal on thine ivory face.

Shall magic oversee to interlace
These two divergent themes which so profane
This wonderful ideal of our demesne
To depths of most unbearable disgrace.

My sister, will it ever be that I
Will have thee someday for my very own?
Or is this fantasy to justify
This perfect world which we have overthrown.

What kind of fools were we who ran away
From that which still we hope to have someday?

This sonnet is part of a short sequence; click here to read it all:

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:

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:

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:

Sonnet V: The Moment

Beware; for an I hold the close again,
I shan’t be so inclined to let thee go.
The joy’s so great in finding thee; and so
This pain of parting doth not kindly wane.

When last I held thee, scarce could I contain
This joy in thee, and painful afterglow
Whose sting I could not, nor would I, forego;
Nor, fearing this, would I, my love restrain.

I die a thousand deaths when thou art gone.
Yet never would I sacrifice this time
When I am once again alive in thee.
I live a thousand lives, sweet paragon,
In every second’s sweet eternity,
In every moment’s perfect paradigm.

This sonnet is part of a short sequence; click here to read it all: