If I let it go
Would the wind blow it away?
If I let it go….
Tag Archives: How Once I Yearned (with introductions)
Sonnet III: Alone
How can I feel my life without the touch
Of love’s own sweet, pristine, embracing calm.
How then can I exist without as much
As any common man in any realm
Would have, without much more, perhaps, than bare
Awareness–not so much as realizing
Fairness that exists within the care
Of natures quickened earth–whose mesmerizing
Beauty touches all mankind for better
Or for worse. For deprivation is
His Lordship’s curse. His worth alone, is met
By sky, and sky, in turn, by earth. And His
Domain is cold, and far removed from She
Who hungers so relentlessly for mee.
This sonnet is part of a short sequence; click here to read it all:
Intro 3: Worth
What is my life worth?
Is it worth more than I think?
Or is it worth less?
Or is that even,
If I were to add it up,
The proper question?
Sonnet II: Challenge
How may a challenge take so many names:
The first, a journey struck with spirit bright;
The next, a stolid, firm, determined, fight;
And then, a simple, tired tread–a game
Although the dream were dead–and next, it came
Relentless, as it yet were sanctified;
Without surrender, lest be dignified
Thus; that the game were lost? The very blame
Was hidden in the cost of keeping on
Within a blackened dream. How challenging
This fourfold path must seem, when what is gone
Is purity, which such a dream may bring.
But fivefold is the path of righteous grief,
When challenge is pursued without belief.
This sonnet is part of a short sequence; click here to read it all:
Intro 2: Character
The will to continue on
long after ones original enthusiasm has waned
is the essence of character.
Sonnet I: Grades of Paper
Upon a time, my love, a diary
Of paper, stained with words set down in ink;
Revealing all a boy might feel, and think,
And strive, and pray, and wonder what might be;
That, would he, worthy of thy love, decree?
On paper, yes; but also on the brink–
Withholding nothing more–profess; and think,
If then not worthy, tears he shed for thee
Would blur his ink; such tears as fell like rain
To paper; ran his words, as ran his heart,
Cascading down, as rivers, all his pain;
So mixt with joy, and hope we would not part.
Yet now, his tears, upon a keyboard, fall,
Not mixt with joy, nor pain, nor seen at all.
This sonnet is part of a short sequence; click here to read it all:
Intro 1: Time Over Time
Wrote, of that I wrote
Within a thought once within,
Without is without.
Always it began,
As reliable as though
It ran like clockwork,
My love, did I sit,
Outside, under an awning,
Watched and listened as it rained.
And sometimes, I cried;
All my tears, all my ink, mixed;
And wrote I such things:
David Emeron: Sonnets 