Sonnet II: Evil Orb

I will not see, I cannot know, nor feel;
I may not hear, nor taste, and no aroma
Will I sense, nor trace of joy, of home
Or mirth of soul or peace, nor can I kneel

In silent prayer, ending this ordeal.
It presses with the weight of stars, this dome
Of light, this hellish sphere of music, gloaming
Not, nor offering reprieve to heal.

And canst thou truly think thou art a blessing,
Evil orb, so frighteningly loud?
Thy cruel intention hard upon me pressing;
Burning death, in state, without a shroud;
Canst not thou see the lie thou dost profess;
With neither dusk, nor mitigating cloud?

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

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Sonnet I: To the Approaching Dawn

I fear not that my words will never grace….
And yet I dread this fast approaching dawn;
I see the minutes and the hours pass;
For dawn is yet the only constant thing
That rips me so unkindly from my pace.

Though never is my reason thus forgone;
This Lighted Spectre haunts me–this Impasse–
This Waking Nightmare from beneath will spring.
Beneath the Earth this Pale Rider waits,
His Fiery Horses chafing; will have drawn

His Chariot’s Searing Livery–unsurpassed
In glory, any but Hyperion:
Shall stream His Burning Light; and gaining fast,
Will into Hypnos’ Waiting Arms, me cast.

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

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