Tag Archives: Literature

Sonnet II: Sleep and Death

Posted by David Emeron on

And yet, thou, quiet at my side, asleep
Hast thus me graced.  Thine own sweet breath,
Thy fairest face so still, but not as death,
As once I thought the only link to keep

Us ever joined would be.   So dark, so deep
Would be our misery; our fate, beneath
A cruel, unblinking sky, would us bequeath,
Or God should grace us, but to weep;

For dreams forsaken, squandered; and to those
From which we shrank, unbidden, with resolve,
With fear, or anger; yet our lives revolve
Around the one, and only one, we chose.

Though only death was certain, dearest wife,
‘Tis better still that it began with life.

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

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Sonnet I: No More

Posted by David Emeron on

No touch, no sleep, no rest, no love like mine
For thee, shall ere console me in my place
Of rest.  No more shall any weight of thine
My breast console.  No more, thy fairest face,

Within my whole creation be contained.
No more shall I awaken, feel my heart
And thine, and should not feel that there be twain.
Not rhythm, nor our beings, be made to part.

No more shall flesh be moved nor move mine own
By neither wish, nor thought, nor even touch,
To such a fervent height as we have known–
As only I and thou have felt this much.

Must I, in perpetuity, endure
No more, no more, no more, no more… no more….

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

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Sonnet VII: Lotus

Posted by David Emeron on

I lid mine eyes, yet not in sleep, but wake;
Not hid to prize the darkness, nor to see;
Nor magnify some other sense; nor be
Bereft of beauty; nor once more forsake

The heft of duty, as a way to break
The thrall of such cacophonous debris.
Nor shall so thin a veil set me free
From youthful ties, nor hail its mistake,

Nor truth, nor lies, but merely grant repose;
Which waking purpose, clearly, I’m inclined
To take, whenever I may know such throws
Of agony or bliss. And when I find
Such irony as this, I then expose
Myself, to all the wealth, in all my mind.

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

Sonnet VI: Violets

Posted by David Emeron on

‘Til noon, before these Violets lovely stir
With bloom that splendour morning’s promised awe;
Too soon, I made my contract, drunk on her
Perfume, and swore this compact as my law;

And strewn for all, to savour all the more,
Presume this Moonlight-sweet enthralment were
Immune to circumstance; that here, before
The gloom,  ill-fortune shan’t to these occur.

From Moon unto Aspasia, then, I go,
Subsumed by Columbine ’til Dawn’s deplore,
Marooned and Wild; to Corsican I know,
Entombed this fivefold Covenant I swore;

And prune such flaws, assuming naught will show;
Festooned and drawn: my doom from long ago.

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

Sonnet V: Her Majesty

Posted by David Emeron on

A word, then two, a fountain like a stream
That wears away a mountain. Time, a spring,
Reflection over aeons; it can bring
Perfection. Though it presses down, extreme

In ways of mystery. Its form can seem
To press its history:  On such a common thing
As common coal–transformative–may wring
A diamond fine and whole.  And so supreme

A form may limit, yet such limits might
Become the set of forces pressed upon
So commonplace a line as these I write.

The queen of all poetic forms: I fight
Her storms of pressure, educated on;
And open up my mind to all her light.

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

Sonnet IV: An Oath

Posted by David Emeron on

No Oath, no cause, nor promise do I need;
For promises, with duty, must be kept.
This violet, a promise could impede;
For I, by every faculty, am swept

To tend, and make to prosper, every bloom.
I long have tried to stay my hand; but could
Not ever stay my soul; nor–and, assuming
Such could keep me whole–remand, for good

Or ill, that Holy Thread I share with God.
His will–all beauty, and all bounty, came
From His divine, all knowing light–abroad
To His creations fly; and in His Name,

Created He those beings He deemed as great,
Entrusted, in His image, to create.

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

Sonnet III: A call

Posted by David Emeron on

No albatross is this around my neck,
This talisman to set my soul afire,
A host of angels, heavenly; a choir
Who, singing endless blessings, at my beck

And call, continue to adorn, bedeck,
Enthral, enslave the muses they acquire.
And, subject to my will, they must inspire
My pen to greater heights; until no speck

Of life remains within my body; or
My soul is, from its heart still beating, ripped;
Or locked in shadow, knowing only breath.
For, nothing less will end the oath I swore;
Until I have, this mortal coil slipped;
Or when the shadow takes me unto death.

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