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
Tag Archives: Poem
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:
Intro 1: If Only
Could you see in Spring
what I have seen in Summer,
you might have chosen
fulfilment in life
in Fall to better yourself.
And then, looking back,
you might even see
how desolate in Winter
your life might have been,
if you had never
made that fateful decision
on one Spring morning.
Sonnet VIII: The Craven and the Valiant
I’ve been ashamed I have not held the line
Myself. Nor shown respect for those who did
Nor ever thought I could, a thought kept hidden
On a shelf of false disdain, maligning
Those who would; and pained to think my spine
Was weak. At least, until that day undid
My cravenness. That day I knew, amid
My web of lies, that woven not of mine–
No, tangled from another’s twine, a slack
And mangled maven–much more meek, supine,
More cowardly as then I was. No black
Nor white existed, why the fuss? he late
Insisted, only grey: The grey of hate
Of they who save the day, and hold the line.
This sonnet is part of a short sequence; click here to read it all:
Intro 8: This was the Moment
The moment that I knew
That I spoke of long ago
Was in the summer.
In a stadium,
For the first time I heard it
We pledged allegiance
Many times I’d heard
Many times I’d said the words
This time, I listened.
Sonnet VII: Satan’s Silence
Could God’s devout assail with flame a room
Of helpless innocents whose only crime:
Descent from their inferno without time
To don a hooded veil, so to their doom
Were sent? What god commands her to a tomb
Half sunk in earth, and rent with stone by grime
Stained hands, a helpless girl? What paradigm–
That knew the violation of her womb,
Then learnt this travesty her god offends!?
Whose crime could be the punishment of rape?
What god is this? What votary attends?
While gawkers ’round the world in silence gape?
If God gives love, redemption, hope, and breath,
I name him Satan, feignèd god of death.
This sonnet is part of a short sequence; click here to read it all:
Intro 7: A Name for a God
The name of this god
is known to all by his deeds;
though few dare name him.
David Emeron: Sonnets 