For whom is this hand
For thee in strength, or tender,
Or for thee in war?
Tag Archives: Friendship
Sonnet VII: Gilded Fire
What gilded fire hast thou within me lit
When once thou hast so deep thy fingers prest;
What hale, such perfection doth acquit
When light-acquainted fire doth bestow?
From lightest dost thou brush, to deepest touch;
For verge thou mee as though of thine possessed:
From out thy mastery, ownership as such
For mee, this fiery lightning set aglow.
May’ once, an I escape thee, light as well;
Might fire as hast thou lit be thus expressed;
May’ hearty lightning mine, and flame impel;
Might I, thine elements alight, thee know?
Can I, thy lightning’s fyre, reflect as blest;
Come I, as thy desire shall overflow?
This sonnet is part of a short sequence; click here to read it all:
Intro 7: Unabashed
An encore of sorts,
A sequence is at an end
But it demandeth.
So calleth now this
To occupy. What soul this?
What hath I then wrought?
Sonnet VI: Exalted
In aire, dost–poise thou in His image–fly
Perfection! bronzed against Hyperion’s blaze;
Exalted! at thy nadir by His rays;
With mastery! dost thou hold thy piece of sky.
In aire, for thee, hath stopt all time; on high,
At perfect flexion, as His Son displayed:
Retract, and tense, ’til once thou deign obeyed
His gravity, that deign thou not defy.
Down! by His unseen force, to Earth art thrown;
Descend thou! as I gasp–thy devotee.
Thou! slicing air! perfection still outshone!
And twist! and roll! and turn! to all degree!
As fly thou through devoted hands alone
With thee, who hast so Godly kist the sea.
This sonnet is part of a short sequence; click here to read it all:
Intro 6: Fought to Perfection
Shall such perfection poised skyward
Be tossed amongst the Gods themselves; displayed,
and cast, spinning, into Heaven….
Sonnet V: Colours
Here, these colours in secret dost thou touch;
Here, in reddest violet I thou pursue;
Yet only black as night, and yet as blue
That thou, my bright, my shadow, painted much.
And here, the spectroscopic span is such;
And here, chromatics some might misconstrue;
Unknown, such hues have painted far too few;
As whitest white is not so grey a crutch
To magnify protection’s light of worth.
And worthy light, prismatic as the sun,
Shall stream as bright toward golden compass points;
And venerable shades shall then unearth,
When newer hues are finally outdone,
Our touch as art–as colours–us, anoints.
This sonnet is part of a short sequence; click here to read it all:
Intro 5: A Delicious Wet Scrape
thick…
all cooked down…
like white cane sugar…
I curl my tongue around…
and swallow slowly…
I feel it slide…
thick…
like honey…
like something sweet…
caressing me inside…
all the way…
down….
David Emeron: Sonnets 