If only I could
In this bottle fourteen lines,
Send away to thee;
To be understood,
What words, within these confines,
Only, should they be?
Tag Archives: Love
Sonnet: This
Withal such love within our worlds may be:
So must it live within our mind’s frontier?
Or might it dwell within our heart–sincere
Within our soul–wherein we may not see?
Can this I feel, though cannot touch in thee?
May such as this, made manifest, appear?
Or when such love perceivest thou, revere?
Dost this thou feel, though canst not touch in mee?
Yet of this unseen thing are we aware,
As much we would this phantom to possess;
For all its joys impart or its despair
Doth bring to us when once this thing profess.
So dangerous a thing should we declare,
That oft might curse, as well as it might bless.
Intro: Love….
Sonnet: Perhaps
There was a time when you and I were just
As now, but happy still. So long withdrawn
And faded with our will, the time has gone.
It’s passed us altogether now; the best
Of love and hate has gone, yet can be pressed
In pages past, as likeness penned or drawn.
If we begin a love again thereon
We might continue still, but would attest
A pain as well, which sadly we have known,
That delves within, and minds and hearts perceive
Inside our wiser selves. Perhaps, above
All else, it would be best to leave alone…
Perhaps it would be best for us to leave…
For us to leave alone our smiling love….
Intro: Here All Along
I looked down for this
And this I found, waiting here,
Ready for your tears.
Sonnet: Definite
Before me stood an apparition, still,
A spectre stood, I thought, before me; there,
Upon my garden trestle, stealthy came;
When first, I looked upon a pensive stare.
Regarding me, this silent wraith; her chill,
Unearthly gaze–or were it baneful gleam–
At first so menacing, then slyly tame,
Unfathomably deep, her eyes did seem.
Then spake she once, not whispering nor shrill
yet understood I not what hath she said.
Though close regarded what she would exclaim
My pounding heart were all I heard instead.
Yet now I will–when thrill to hear thy voice–
Rejoice–and shame–the lateness of my choice.
Intro: If I Should Hide
Regarding my confusing paradox,
The little girl who liveth down the lane,
Hath preordained imprisoning my heart.
David Emeron: Sonnets 