Tag Archives: Lady

Sonnet V: Bad Times

Posted by David Emeron on

Love, have I hurt you, yet you love me still;
When I am bitter; still you understand;
You knew I was alone, and took my hand;
And knew I loved you as I always will.

Love me, as I love you, though you’ve hurt me;
So fine you are, how could I but forgive;
The girl whose magic taught a boy to live;
The woman who would teach a man to see.

We never let our circumstance prevail;
And ever after felt our bold belief;
What power, this, may triumph over grief;
And leaves but little meaningless travail.

Not fire for strength, to grist the mill, nor more
To climb–No hill–but bad times to ignore.

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

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Sonnet I: Grades of Paper

Posted by David Emeron on

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:

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Intro 1: Time Over Time

Posted by David Emeron on

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:

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Sonnet: Diary

Posted by David Emeron on

Can I know or see a life completely
Through a man’s written word? Not unduly;
Suppose, they have been blurred, and not truly
Intended for me. Nor, though discreetly,

Read of she, her diary, so sweetly
Not a thread of insight nor pathos, nor
A fresh new idea, even hated. More
Of which I name, created? Completely?

Even understand it partly? No I
Think not. Knows my heart Miller by reading
The Tropic he wrought, or Baudelaire from
His Fleurs du Mal? We know, nor care not, why;
And whereupon shall man’s words know heeding;
We merely learn what we, must needs, become?

Sonnet: Forgetting Time

Posted by David Emeron on

Alas, though I have searched throughout the nation,
Finding none alive as fair as she;
I thought, most certainly, that some would be
As they, who might approximate her station.

But, there lived not one in all creation;
Not withstanding that, already, we
Have formed a bond unbreakable. To thee
I’m joined, yet none awakened one temptation

That could steal my heart, from thee, away.
Such hurt do now I feel–when I renew
My certainty–for other men, who yet
May never know the firmament to sway
Upon the merest trace of she; forgetting
Time, while they, as mee, their hearts, pursue.