Sonnet VIII: By Any Other Name

For I, thy gifts supernal might suppose,
Thy daggered figure, cut, as by a blade,
Enough impending, chilling to impose,
Enough avowed, to make the world afraid;

Enough, without the whisper of a roar,
To quail, as judgement sharp would juxtapose;
Enough, when it were seen, enough before,
To pale when it has been, that next arose.

Enough to chill, undaunted though profess,
Might they; When they behold their fear, deplore;
Enough, this fearsome scrutiny to lessen
Say, that judgement least, is judgement more:

This naked cut, no man would dare to dress,
None adorn, none to aid, and none to bless.

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

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Sonnet II: Evil Orb

I will not see, I cannot know, nor feel;
I may not hear, nor taste, and no aroma
Will I sense, nor trace of joy, of home
Or mirth of soul or peace, nor can I kneel

In silent prayer, ending this ordeal.
It presses with the weight of stars, this dome
Of light, this hellish sphere of music, gloaming
Not, nor offering reprieve to heal.

And canst thou truly think thou art a blessing,
Evil orb, so frighteningly loud?
Thy cruel intention hard upon me pressing;
Burning death, in state, without a shroud;
Canst not thou see the lie thou dost profess;
With neither dusk, nor mitigating cloud?

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

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Sonnet II: The Most Important Thing

That art thou most of consequence to me–
Thy tender age doth all to me pertain–
What may I tell, that wouldst thou not foresee;
And warn of that from which thou shouldst abstain?

Fear not, shouldst thou, pursuit of all thine aims;
For rest shalt thou enough to persevere.
Nor fear the end of that which life proclaims;
For shalt thou cease, one day, to live in fear.

And never, thy demeanour, show as meek;
For this thine own frustration will prolong.
Nor fail to strive, believing thou art weak;
For shall, one day, travail make thee strong.

And know, thou shouldst, one truth, all else above:
With all thy strength, pursue thy dearest love.

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

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Sonnet: Definite

Before me stood an apparition, still,
A spectre stood, I thought, before me; there,
Upon my garden trestle, stealthy came;
When first, I looked upon a pensive stare.

Regarding me, this silent wraith; her chill,
Unearthly gaze–or were it baneful gleam–
At first so menacing, then slyly tame,
Unfathomably deep, her eyes did seem.

Then spake she once, not whispering nor shrill
yet understood I not what hath she said.
Though close regarded what she would exclaim
My pounding heart were all I heard instead.

Yet now I will–when thrill to hear thy voice–
Rejoice–and shame–the lateness of my choice.

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