Tag Archives: Insight

Sonnet IV: Paradise

Posted by David Emeron on

My Sister, I have been to Paradise!
My place in Heaven I have surely touched;
Although I were not calm enough nor wise
That I in that abode might stay, as much

I wished. Mine Heaven was thine Earth, my sweet,
Thine hand, the hand with which sweet Kali held
And breathed life into cold unyielding heat!
That very primal Earth which is thy world.

And so, with Kali’s hand and Helen’s eyes,
Not knowing what a mortal thou hadst touched,
Thou sent thy brother to his paradise;
A heaven which, too beautiful to love,

Would ever be the prize of Earthy trips:
The Heaven of thine hands, and of thy lips.

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

Sonnet III: That which Falls

Posted by David Emeron on

Such tears as I do weep are tears of joy;
But sadness is with joy forever twined.
Such tears as purest crystal so enshrined
Should be–such wonders of extreme employ!

Miraculous; for what would once destroy,
And in the very wonder, this would bind
Us to our fate, our destiny of mind
And body, soul and sinew, girl and boy:

In youth did we enjoin the gentle touch,
The halting kiss; and these were each the more
Exciting for the newness of the act;

And through the years, each sweet caress was much
More fine than was the last; and did restore
My faith in Paradise with thought and fact.

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

Sonnet I: That which Sings

Posted by David Emeron on

I sing to thee of winter’s rain, my sweet;
I sing of hours spent and hours kept;
Of all the dreams beneath this rain, we’ve slept;
For all the time I’ve held thy head, thy feet,

I sing to thee, although my heart is fleet.
If not for me then thou wouldst not have wept;
Thy tears doth fill my pen which make adept,
And make me to produce such indiscreet

Reflection. When I think of all those hours,
Innumerable, they, within our frame;
As sore beset with devils, as with flowers;
Of all the seemingly unending pain;
Those times that seemed controlled by other powers;
I remember, then, how soothing is the rain.

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

Sonnet: Hidden Virtue

Posted by David Emeron on

I thought, one day, I wrote a thing of beauty.
Later on, when taking it in hand,
And sharing it with those, as was my duty;
Neither they, nor I, could understand.

The virtue of a verse is that its meaning,
Often may completely hidden be.
And God, it seems, prefers a lack of gleaning;
With His truth revealed more cryptically.

I thought I could, from Heaven, feel Him looking;
Sung my hymn about it, none could hear;
Though none would deign to join me in my brooking;
Never did a votary appear.

I read, again, my words much later; and
I finally began to understand.