Tag Archives: Loneliness

Sonnet V: Crystal

Posted by David Emeron on

But here, my sweetest love, and now, I pray
That shouldst thou know, as sure as once thou knew,
That shouldst thou neither worry, nor construe
Of me, nor any kind of doubt, display,

That shan’t I, once I have returned, convey,
Though lost, as found, or never I withdrew
From out the safety of thine arms.   I do
Believe that thou shalt, ‘ever charmed this way,

Remain my fragrant, soul refreshing, wine,
Most perfect, thou, and  infinitely sweet;
And shalt thou be the crystal–and I think,
A vessel that, so finished and complete,
That Holiest of Holies,  made divine,
Thy beauty and thy grace–Wherewith I drink.

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

Intro 5: Mine

Posted by David Emeron on

But, hear me now, my
sweetest love, that thou shouldst know
with nary a doubt:

Once I shall have, to
thine arms, returnèd, thou shalt
forever be my

perfect wine, most sweet;
and thou shalt be the crystal
Wherewith I shall drink.

Sonnet IV: Liquid Sorrow

Posted by David Emeron on

Too well, he knew; did Baudelaire, my twin
Of spirit, forebear of my soul; and knew,
As only he, my dearest poet, grew
To know; this drink was fine, as knew he sin.

So I thereof  proclaim to thee, who’s been
My sweetest love, as my devoted, who
For all thy sorrow; as my servant, do
Afore the morrow; as my slave:  Begin;

Goe; bring thou me that nectar of my soul,
That finest thing of sweetest Xerex grape,
And wilt thou see, I shall become returned
As he, who thou admirest, the whole
Of me, thy bliss desirest, as burned
Thine heart; and nary, snared as this, escape.

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

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Intro 4: Liquid Poetry

Posted by David Emeron on

As Baudelaire, my
father, my twin, my dearest
poet knew this drink

was fine; so shall I
proclaim: My sweetest love, as
my servant, as my

devoted, as my
slave; bringest thou me of the
sweetest Xerex grape

and I shall become
returnèd to that which thou
most admirest.

Sonnet III: Absence

Posted by David Emeron on

Remember thou, my sweetest love, that grape
Made manifest alloweth many forms:
A quick but fleeting ichorous escape;
A spirit with incalescence that warms.

The grape may yield up poison that would kill,
A draught that might embolden ones appeal,
A sedative to blight one of his skill,
Or potion, pray, infirmity, may heal.

Remember thou how fickle is the grape
So oft’ endowed, its yield, so commonplace;
But rarely, fine enough a thing to shape
Ones soul, aligned, unto a state of grace.

So may this sweet elixir slake thy soul;
And pray, my sweetest love, it make thee whole.

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

Intro 3: Medicine or Poison

Posted by David Emeron on

Remember thou, my
sweetest Love, that many forms
are yielded up by

the fickle grape: The
subjective grape might sometimes
yield up poison; but

it may also yield
up medicine that calmeth
and healeth thy Soul.

Sonnet II: To Ease thy Longing

Posted by David Emeron on

The way of this elixir is its balm,
So gentle; that, with artistry, would’ see
My mind and heart, my very soul, becalm;
As well it would, my sweetest love, for thee.

So gently should it wash away thy pain,
This gift of purest flavour doth recall,
As though it, soothing as a favoured rain,
Shan’t make distraught thy soul, that it may fall.

Forget thou not, my love, this cruel Earth
Gave art to elements wherewith may heal
Thine heart; which beat with sadness, yet with worth
And daunt, as doth an angel’s heart reveal.

Though haunted, all the lonely, even we,
May wash away our longing a degree.

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