Begun so morose
Then strangely ending in mirth.
Finally finished.
Tag Archives: Loneliness
Sonnet III: Step after Step
First, second, third, and fourth, I walk alone
With measured footsteps, each one as the last;
My future is as hopeless as the past;
These plodding steps, the only things I own.
I face my work, I wake, I sleep, I hone
My pace to take more measured steps. Not fast
Nor slow, I have become adept at last
At going nowhere. See how I have grown
Such roots, and with such care, which but permit
The taking of a single measured step
And then another–fancy how they fit
My feet. This pace would scarcely ever let
Me eat, except that I might starve to death
And that would end the measure of my breath.
This sonnet is part of a short sequence: click here to read it all:
Intro 3: Wasted on the Young
I start them out bad,
And then they get even worse.
Youth drained by the young.
Sonnet II: His Gift
Near every effort I express is less
Than what is necessary to survive;
Yet, I remain ironically alive
Although my work is not enough to bless
My life. But why then shall I acquiesce
To strife when all around me is the live,
Unending truth that I can still revive
My worthless Plod. To see within this press,
My worthless God has gifted me the tool
Of nothing; still, the only gift He has
To give. And I, His ever steadfast fool,
Must live within these scenes! I think that as
I die inside, these means I come to see:
That one thing God Himself has given me.
This sonnet is part of a short sequence: click here to read it all:
Intro 2: Sad
Sad it went, back then;
I yet could not see His light.
I knew, once I saw.
Sonnet VI: Her Call
I hear the rain; she calleth as she did
So many years ago. But now I can
Not heed this pain. She claimed me as her man;
No longer is it so. Thus am I hid
From she, whom hath she been, my dearest love.
Thou canst but ask: But why dost thou forsake
This holy path of love which thou bespake
To be the flask who’s nectars rank above
All fruit; wherethrough, all Gods and men, subsist.
But to be true, I sometimes answer her;
Though not so loudly she should know exists
The man she proudly loved, because he were
The shell of what he was, so shan’t she know
The depths, so shut, a failing love may go…
This sonnet is part of a short sequence; click here to read it all:
Intro 6: The Rain
I so love the rain
Especially the monsoons
Which we don’t have here
David Emeron: Sonnets 