It’s more direct now.
I Like this version better.
Much more personal.
It now has the punch
I wish I could deliver
With my own two fists.
What is that light, now,
Raging from the east? A sun?
Many more will rise.
Tag Archives: Poem
Sonnet: Creators
And who are these who rape my Gods when long
They have returned to ash, and dust, and bone?
No right have these to slash Them, cruelly thrown
And bleeding, from the Heights where They belong.
And who are these ignoble beasts; this throng,
Who mutilate and rape Them, unbeknown,
Then take their turn upon each vacant Throne,
While still They fall, unknowing, from this wrong?
Do these believe their acts are in the right;
As though belief could claim to sanction rape?
Do these take carnal pleasure in the night,
While horrified Their past devoted gape?
Or do these quake with fear, while knowing well,
Their lie alone will have them burn in Hell?
Intro: Alright, I Take it All Back…
~~~ who ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~ are ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~ these ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ?
Intro 4: What Answer
What will she, my love,
But say, when once she answereth
These words of mine?
Sonnet I: Waiting Is
And I… have lost all life, all breath, all heart,
All sound, all sight; all sense hath left me blind.
For all I run to thee while sleep, apart…
I dare not hope but glimpse thee so confined;
But crystaled tears, this vision, showeth art;
And only then should know thy tears as mine.
I know thy lidded eyes press forth my tears;
And beg thee ope’ these jewels; see me there
Entreat thee, from this blindness, end my fears;
Wake thee, and wake thou me, from out this sleep,
This phantasm, this darkness, this nightmare;
And dare I thee to wake, wherefore I weep.
For thou, thy faith, thy dream, as pure whereby–
Waiting… hoping… ever for mee… as I….
- To my love;
who hath for me
ever waited.
This sonnet is part of a short sequence; click here to read it all:
Intro 1: Sometime Last Century…
I am still
hushed
poised
waiting for you
not daring
to brush the tears
away
from my closed eyes
fearful
of jarring myself
from this sleep–
I wait…
- Written by My Sweetheart…
Sometime last millennium…
Sonnet II: His Passion
I hear it in his song, as I perform;
With expectation, I anticipate
What challenge wrought that worthy hands conflate.
What fingers, nimble, delicate, and warm,
What mastery was he seeking to transform?
I hear him call, with each I recreate,
And call again with Phrygian passion. Great,
I hear him call, as doth a raging storm.
I hear it in the sadness and the joy,
As in capriciousness, or wayward games;
I hear it gravely serious, then coy;
In every moment, hear how it proclaims.
The instant when the Andaluz appears,
I hear it, sweet as sin, across the years.
This sonnet is part of a short sequence; click here to read it all:
David Emeron: Sonnets 