Tag Archives: Death

Sonnet: Blessings of God’s Anointed

Posted by David Emeron on

Gaze upon me, O Lovely, and beware,
Or as thy frosts unfairly come, rejoice.
Fair-play with fortune will confound Despair
That, hideous with pride, hath shown its voice.

For never-resting, God’s anointed here
Excel: to verse thy numbered days, to bear
This work, to lend thee summer; and to year
Thy days, and keep thee and thy children fair.

In all our seasons, prisoners are we–
As checked, and sapped, and pent, as tyrants fear
All eyes the beauty we distil may see–
Who gift these days to winter they who sneer:

Though thieving Time all substance yet destroys,
We left thee more than wretched Time enjoys.

The final draft of this sonnet became part
of a short, or possibly at some point, very long
sequence; click here to read it all:

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Sonnet III: Scions

Posted by David Emeron on

More tragic still are They Who, yet unborn,
May never be; or Who, once born were not
To ever see what prize Their Birthright bought.
Olympian, Their Blood aflame; yet mourn

They not, for know They not, how They were torn
From out Their Mothers’ Arms while still She fought,
Believing They, with Holy Blood, could naught
But thrive. They know Their Legacy as scorn;

Yet not why They, your legions, chafe to join.
‘Til you, upon Their Mothers’ Throne, decree
And point “This is a god; and this is not.”
Defining ugliness as beauty, point
And sneer “Art thou as beautiful as we?”
But fear to know the answer you have wrought.

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

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Intro 3: I Think I Now See:

Posted by David Emeron on

How will evil fall?
Shall it be ground underneath
Purely distilled truth?

Truth and good and right
And beauty cannot be stopped.
Many will have died–

For this, gladly die.
For truth is all that we have.
Truth, and nothing else.

All beauty and right
All goodness and all kindness
Come from perfect truth.

Distilled by reason
Distilled by our harmony
With the truth itself.

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Sonnet VII: Reflected

Posted by David Emeron on

When I, within the mirror, thee regard;
But not of thine, which shone in silvered glass;
Nay, this, that all the many years discard;
As though no year might ever for thee pass.

So fair, thy sherry coloured hair and eyes;
Thy perfect form I see, as straight and hard;
Thy smile, seeming beautiful and wise;
And strong thy limbs, by time are nary scared.

If thou couldst know what wonders thee await;
More wondrous than most any thou surmise;
If thou couldst only see thy pain abate;
And know how much of life this pain denies.

How few thy years; alas, how little wait;
My life surpast, when thou such things instate.

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

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