Tag Archives: Longing

Sonnet I: What I Do

Posted by David Emeron on

But can it be that I my love shall see?
May I expect a miracle again?
Is finding, once again, my dearest friend,
My Sister-Love, a possibility?

Our struggle has been cruel irony
As such, do I suppose, will be our end;
But for a little while I shall pretend
That this, the preordained, will never be.

In fact, I will remain God’s loyal slave,
Indentured ever, hoping for reward.
So Elevated, now, above the Knave,
That I can plainly see where such is stored.

So sure am I of God’s Great Path for me,
I know that He forgives my enmity.

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

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Intro 1: This Thread

Posted by David Emeron on 
I thought, of late,
    that this
        sweetness--

this new and joyous
    sensation--
        this miracle--

this thread of
    innocence--would
        be mine forever.

How slowly, how
    quietly, how
        stealthily, this

gossamer thread
    was
        cut...

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Sonnet II: His Gift

Posted by David Emeron on

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:

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Sonnet VI: Her Call

Posted by David Emeron on

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:

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Sonnet III: Family

Posted by David Emeron on

At last! the Rain! who triumphs as She falls
To tame the Wood who drinks Her as She calls
His name. Insatiable tonight, this Rain
Who nourishes His great and wooden halls.

So long, so passionate, this sweet affair;
Young Forest; sweet, His Rain; discrete, Their care;
Adorns She this, His stature and His strength,
His fingers, leafy, brush Her streaming hair.

When first I saw Them courting through the night,
Her tempest, brazen, teased His leaves to flight;
And coy, Her tear-drops mingled with His dew;
So sparkled He, as She, with joy and light.

Though Earth were His, and Sky were Her domain;
Her squalls prepare and then delight, at length,
This bassinet wherein Their Children grew.

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

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