Tag Archives: Love

Sonnet II: What I See

Posted by David Emeron on

Could, fine as you, another woman be,
Who surely has no equal on the Earth?
Could there have been some perfect virgin birth
Which consecrates impossibility?

Could there exist a worthy bond, as we
Have formed, through such a perfect sanctity?
Could one unearth a work of art, so free
Of flaw as you? The Angels would decree:

God made the Earth; one miracle was done,
And then within His realm did he make two.
No wonder of the world could have begun
Until the Great Almighty God, who knew
His Miracle, complete with only one,
Created me, and gave this gift to you.

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

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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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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 IV: Her Dance

Posted by David Emeron on

Curious, the rain whence cometh down,
She falleth soft in overwhelming drops;
In peace, her quietly pervading sound
Transformeth sun and moon–so uninvited.

Strange, that once her drops, when they invade,
As former they, her forest’s ardour stops;
Though cities in the stead of trees pervade
And held as quiet sway–so unexcited.

Pleasing, how again she doth return
Such streets and buildings, parking lots and shops;
To older days  for which they seem to yearn,
So mixt with all her fallen tears–united.

Older she than land they wrest; her crops,
If brick or straw are we–and unrequited.

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

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