Whatever would the strictest consequence?
Whenever whimsy doth mee, for to take;
Where never doth reality abide.
Tag Archives: Poem
Sonnet: Utopia
O Let us rant, O young, for soon we die,
Too old to matter, let us have our say;
For soon enough, your will your hand shall try;
Time cometh soon that might you have your day.
If you succeed, you’ll not respect the dead,
But jeer and mock us all within our graves;
But old are we, who’ve seen so many tread,
And end, as ill, their chosen path as slaves.
So time and time again, your plans will fail;
But ne’er will you remember how we warned;
By then, our warning will to no avail;
Nor, of us, memory, but were we scorned.
If honest, you would scorn yourselves as well;
Deep down, this brave new world, you knew were Hell.
Intro: Let us rant
Let us rant, you young,
for soon enough we will die,
too old to matter.
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Sonnet: And to My Sweetheart
When once I, joyous, dreamt mye day with thee,
Inside thy window, slept, as waned our day
Without; by a veranda on the sea
To air and heart, as opened sweet, this night.
As such, it waxeth cool; its peace, and poise,
And stopt in time, so perfect, did it stay
To let, as any young man’s dream enjoys’,
The wind, so gentle wafteth, in its flight;
And moonlight, as she shone in gentle state;
And stars so faint they, light years, gleam away,
Blow quiet, once so borne, and dream create.
And gently, as I sleep and dream, alight
They take–as by thee touched, so faraway,
As wouldst, caressed by mee, thou make delight.
Intro: To Björn; Here, Find Minima and Maxima
as i slept
just inside
by a veranda
open to the sea
on a cool night
just right
to let
the wind
and moonlight
and the stars
blow quietly
past me
caressing
as i slept
Sonnet: Lost
Here! the poet’s immortal spirit take.
Though long I have betrayed its inner voice,
And wrote, instead, of love, indeed of choice.
I preached the lie of joy. And though I wake
At night to dreams so horrible they make
Me scream for mercy to a God whose Joys
I shall not ever know; could I rejoice
In some God’s misery for His own sake?
I criticized that fool; yet I am he.
The very fool who lives with naught but grief.
My shallow, poet’s soul shall always be
A measure of society’s belief.
I’ve fought this ugly truth to my last breath;
With nothing to look forward to, save death.
Intro: Journey
This is where I’ve been
But not where I find I am.
Lost, but now I’m found.
David Emeron: Sonnets 