More sad I was then;
no words, unless sad ones came;
if I had but known….
Tag Archives: Muse
Sonnet III: Why Weepest Thou
But true, wilt thou persist or see the way
Thou dost simplistic observations keep?
Or know, such faults as these, will oft portray
Intractable assaults when bound with sleep?
And once, when thou thy fortunes gather new
Canst thou imagine now this shining day?
Such limits spilt and providence withdrew;
Wilt thou thine old devotion disobey?
But seest thou such transcendent ways; as one
With tears of joy doth much that day push through
To innocence far greater, when begun
Thy long observed creation to undo?
Yet weep thou, and thy soul is Earthly spun
Into the deep, and ne’er to be undone.
This sonnet is part of a short sequence: click here to read it all:
Intro 3: Renewal
To this, resistant
Candidly am I this day;
One will be destroyed;
And built in its place,
Something finer and wiser
Than philosophers.
Sonnet II: What Is Kept
Take care young girl in what thou keepest real,
For what thou real profess, wilt thou become;
And be thy carriage drawn to thine ideal,
Wherefore should–pure for thee–white horses come?
This trap thou, from thy cold demesnes, create;
So frozen deep canst thou escape therefrom;
May not thy carriage, soul with ice conflate;
Through frost, could–lost to thee–white horses come?
How good or sweet, when meanness harsh thy word,
Bereave thine heart, and lovely spirit numb?
For passed thy carriage, thine entreat unheard;
And would–nor should to thee–white horses come.
Thy carriage, see to rancour’s cost, succumb.
And ne’er–not ere for thee–white horses come.
This sonnet is part of a short sequence: click here to read it all:
Intro 2: Reality May Bite
What is real to thee
So real does it ever seem,
May be a phantom.
Take care this realness
Is not a dagger with which
To slay thine own soul
Sonnet I: What Is Lost
Readeth not these lines; they are not, young girl,
For thee. They are, to souls like thine, forbidden,
Though they may betray what hast thou hidden
In thine heart, these words should not unfurl
Thy feelings. Thou hast cast thy lot to hurl
Them, stealing–strong or even weak, amid
The squealing swine to be forever hid–
From thine own soul, unknowing, every pearl.
Readeth, thou must not, these lines; they do not
Describe what hast thou chosen. Even now,
Thine heart is frozen. Thou hast cast thy lot
Not winning life, but dreary death; for thou
Hast chosen strife, bereft of song and verse;
And all thy long tomorrows are a curse.
This sonnet is part of a short sequence: click here to read it all:
Sonnet: The Evolution Of…
Things in life evolve. I, now uncaught on
Detail, resolve that haiku, when planned more
Strictly, will not break a single thought on
Separate lines. On the other hand, for
Sonnets, great shrines more strict, more pursuing
Sound; the stricture of both could recombine
With pressure when mixed together. Doing
Round numbers of haiku, would misalign
Within a sonnet. It makes me sigh, too;
For, on my honour, I’d cry if that myth
Were true. Instead, there must be eight haiku
To see it through; and then I combat with
Four pale sounds. And its sextet, for a
Tail, sports “etcetera, etcetera.”
David Emeron: Sonnets 