Tag Archives: God

Sonnet I | RL King:A Written World

Posted by David Emeron on

Does your world spin wild through black of night?
Do you crave my hold, my kiss, my embrace?
Do you ache in desire, my lips to trace?
Do you look and see, my flicker of light?
Do I touch your soul, does it burn, ignite?
Could you have loved this splinter of my grace?
Would you hold me…if tears streamed on my face?
Tell me you would not, else, what a sad plight.

For, I would love thee, ever and a day,
What fool threw away this one that I see?
Did they not see the strength of your fierce heart?
To feel your breath as it moves upon me,
Caress your soul with mine, ever there stay…
You are my passion…you, dear love, my art.

via Sonnet I | RL King:A Written World.

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Sonnet: More Luck

Posted by David Emeron on

Canst not thou fascination herewith see;
With fascination whereunto I saw;
That once herewith so simple, and with awe,
That actually such as this might be?

Art thou, to look upon, as fine as she?
Canst thou, as fine a work of art–or draw
A thing–as this, unveiled, without flaw?
Doth it pale in comparison to thee?

And art thou one, of which were only two?
Or art thou one, if such were only three?
Hast thou, among so many, seen, as  me,
Perfection, took to pen, to sculpt? Or drew,
For, such a thing is finer still; to be
So fine, that redefined a thing, as true.

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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: 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.