When once, Atlas, you beheld
Holding, as we are now, Earth aloft,
What would you He do?
Tag Archives: Mystery
Sonnet VII: Lucky
It’s true, I always get what I desire,
But most of my desires rest in you.
Such boyish dreams, but definitely knew
What would, in all complexity, transpire;
I knew the field, I knew the world entire;
And this, that every wish of mine came true.
I saw our lives as they began anew,
And understood what life would then require.
That both of us, so perfectly sincere;
So very much as when we first began;
And now, as once we did, we would declare;
As strong as ever once, and as severe;
And all our long tomorrows, better than
Our yesterdays; and all beyond compare.
This sonnet is part of a short sequence; click here to read it all:
Intro 7: Predestination
Predestination
There is really no such thing
It is preordained
Sonnet II: Challenge
How may a challenge take so many names:
The first, a journey struck with spirit bright;
The next, a stolid, firm, determined, fight;
And then, a simple, tired tread–a game
Although the dream were dead–and next, it came
Relentless, as it yet were sanctified;
Without surrender, lest be dignified
Thus; that the game were lost? The very blame
Was hidden in the cost of keeping on
Within a blackened dream. How challenging
This fourfold path must seem, when what is gone
Is purity, which such a dream may bring.
But fivefold is the path of righteous grief,
When challenge is pursued without belief.
This sonnet is part of a short sequence; click here to read it all:
Intro 2: Character
The will to continue on
long after ones original enthusiasm has waned
is the essence of character.
Intro: By Words
Can one know any
by his words so written down,
or her diary?
Sonnet: Tropic
If I Could know or see a life completely
Through a man’s word, written; not unduly;
If, they have been blurred, and are not truly
Yet for me, intended. Nor discreetly,
Read of she, her diary, so sweetly
Not a thread of insight, pathos, nor
A fresh idea, nor hatred even. More
Of which I name, created more Completely?
Even understand it partly? I
Think not. Knows my heart Miller when I read
His Tropic wrought; or Baudelaire to plumb
His Fleurs du Mal? We know, nor care not, why;
And whereupon shall words of men know heeding;
Merely learn what we, must needs, become?
David Emeron: Sonnets 