breath
death
Tag Archives: Musing
Sonnet: Unspent
Her silent feet would pace the night away,
(This feline, onyx, crost my path apace;)
From thwarting silence, thoughts of lost love stray,
(Though padding softly, sporting lost love’s face.)
Appeared she, lofty, when I saw her then.
(Though not sincerely real, an I lament)
I felt her smile, soft; I feel, as when…
(We dwelt in hours, not of ours, spent.)
Love of my heart, O whither hast thou gone!
(Doth silent now and withered step thy wake;)
How empty hath thy pedestal, thereon,
(Condemnt our path–recalleth our mistake.)
But no! lamenting love were wrong; but O!
Unspent, thy steps have left me, long ago.
Intro: Lost
Lost so quietly,
as such things usually go;
does one ever know?
Sonnet VIII: For Thy Rest
I would now that I might have been thy bed.
So dark a night it was that wouldst thou sleep
And, weary, rest–a child in my keep–
Upon my breast thy fair and frightened head.
And calm, indeed, to sleep as I have said:
No want or need forgotten whilst thou weep’
To heal thy soul. A drink of comfort, deep,
Would make thee whole again, my child, instead
Of being broke; to smile for me again
When next thou woke‘, and look into mine eyes;
And I would see my Sister gazing up
To smile at me–a smile I would prize
Above all pleasure. For, devoid of pain,
Would grace and measure ever fill her cup.
This sonnet is part of a short sequence; click here to read it all:
Intro 8: Thy Bed
Would, I might have been
Your bed on so dark a night;
Dark that you would sleep.
Rest now weary child.
In my keep, upon my breast
Rest your frightened head.
Calm indeed, you’ll sleep,
No want or need forgotten
You’ll weep, as I said,
And your soul will heal.
Drink you, deep, of comfort, child
And again be whole
Instead, not broken.
When you wake and smile at me,
Look into my eyes,
Sister, I would see
You’d gaze up and smile at me
A smile I’d prize
Above all pleasure
In this, would grace and measure
Ever fill your cup.
Sonnet: Hidden Virtue
I thought, one day, I wrote a thing of beauty.
Later on, when taking it in hand,
And sharing it with those, as was my duty;
Neither they, nor I, could understand.
The virtue of a verse is that its meaning,
Often may completely hidden be.
And God, it seems, prefers a lack of gleaning;
With His truth revealed more cryptically.
I thought I could, from Heaven, feel Him looking;
Sung my hymn about it, none could hear;
Though none would deign to join me in my brooking;
Never did a votary appear.
I read, again, my words much later; and
I finally began to understand.
Intro: One Thing
Once I wrote a thing
I thought very beautiful.
I read it later.
Did not understand.
All its meaning was hidden
From me and others.
The virtue of verse
Is that its meaning may be
Completely hidden.
God seems to like it,
Almost always, done that way.
He watches it all
From above. I saw
Also, and sung about it,
And no one heard me,
And no one sang back.
I listened very closely,
And I heard nothing.
I read it again
Much later; and finally,
I understood it.
David Emeron: Sonnets 