Tag Archives: Sequence

Sonnet II: The Devoted

Posted by David Emeron on

So fine are ye who hold the line unsung
By any but those proud few men who know–
By virtue of their own devotion; though
They boast not how they crossed an ocean; young;

An age at which so few would broach, among
Themselves, such grave and worldly things; who show
The world, by deeds, that matters which bestow
Such life! such death! affairs of kings! who slung,

So rife with breath, together, tales told
And sung, and written down, with reverence;
Who know the price which, sometimes, must be paid;
Who, though as any, fear malevolence,
Dare throw down tyrants, numbering untold;
Who pay with blood–the sum that freedom weighed.

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

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Sonnet IV: Angelic

Posted by David Emeron on

So like an angel dost thou, by me, sleep;
So peaceful dost thou dream and give me dreams;
So like a child do I sleep.  It seems
I dream anew thy gifted dreams, and keep

Mine own in peace, and never do I weep;
For I am safe, as safety thine redeems;
For I, as thou, am safe from all extremes;
For I may rest, as thou–may rest as deep.

An I awake, when deepest sleep is done,
Shall all thy peace remain within; and yet
Such peace, as I describe, cannot be won,
Without the price of love, I shan’t forget;
And when our dreams, as once again are spun
No pleasure as we dream shall go unmet.

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

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Sonnet II: Sleep and Death

Posted by David Emeron on

And yet, thou, quiet at my side, asleep
Hast thus me graced.  Thine own sweet breath,
Thy fairest face so still, but not as death,
As once I thought the only link to keep

Us ever joined would be.   So dark, so deep
Would be our misery; our fate, beneath
A cruel, unblinking sky, would us bequeath,
Or God should grace us, but to weep;

For dreams forsaken, squandered; and to those
From which we shrank, unbidden, with resolve,
With fear, or anger; yet our lives revolve
Around the one, and only one, we chose.

Though only death was certain, dearest wife,
‘Tis better still that it began with life.

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

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Sonnet I: No More

Posted by David Emeron on

No touch, no sleep, no rest, no love like mine
For thee, shall ere console me in my place
Of rest.  No more shall any weight of thine
My breast console.  No more, thy fairest face,

Within my whole creation be contained.
No more shall I awaken, feel my heart
And thine, and should not feel that there be twain.
Not rhythm, nor our beings, be made to part.

No more shall flesh be moved nor move mine own
By neither wish, nor thought, nor even touch,
To such a fervent height as we have known–
As only I and thou have felt this much.

Must I, in perpetuity, endure
No more, no more, no more, no more… no more….

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

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