Tag Archives: Sonnet

Sonnet I: Ode

Posted by David Emeron on

I felt but did not see nor hear the one
And only one who fell to the abyss:
No single scream of fear nor rage in this
Abandoned call–nor hate from whence begun

This long abandoned fall of he who won.
But still the chill of recklessness persists
In all–the tremor of its wrath resists,
Appalling me, a will to be undone.

Yet almost as I fell myself–that with
Abandon… frozen… squalls me to the north–
The shaken state to which I have withdrawn.

What story shall they write, what ode, what myth
Shall celebrate such infamy thenceforth
When long and cold ago I will have gone?

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

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Sonnet IV: What Remains

Posted by David Emeron on

Although to thee thou wouldst that life is lost;
Declaim the shame of all that it contains;
My love doth live in this thou wouldst accost;
Yet see how free her innocence remains.

I would that shouldst thou know thine eyes may trust,
That she as thee such trial here sustains;
Though long hath life to her so dealt unjust;
Yet still she will her innocence remains.

I pity thee if still thou canst not see,
The difference from thy sameness she attains;
Though lost, thy life the same, my love is free;
Through this abyss, her innocence remains.

So deep the sweetness still thy soul contains,
I pray this day thine innocence remains.

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

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Sonnet III: Why Weepest Thou

Posted by David Emeron on

But true, wilt thou persist or see the way
Thou dost simplistic observations keep?
Or know, such faults as these, will oft portray
Intractable assaults when bound with sleep?

And once, when thou thy fortunes gather new
Canst thou imagine now this shining day?
Such limits spilt and providence withdrew;
Wilt thou thine old devotion disobey?

But seest thou such transcendent ways; as one
With tears of joy doth much that day push through
To innocence far greater, when begun
Thy long observed creation to undo?

Yet weep thou, and thy soul is Earthly spun
Into the deep, and ne’er to be undone.

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

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Sonnet II: What Is Kept

Posted by David Emeron on

Take care young girl in what thou keepest real,
For what thou real profess, wilt thou become;
And be thy carriage drawn to thine ideal,
Wherefore should–pure for thee–white horses come?

This trap  thou,  from  thy cold demesnes, create;
So frozen deep canst thou escape therefrom;
May not thy carriage, soul with ice conflate;
Through frost, could–lost to thee–white horses come?

How good or sweet, when meanness harsh thy word,
Bereave thine heart, and lovely spirit numb?
For passed thy carriage, thine entreat unheard;
And would–nor should to thee–white horses come.

Thy carriage, see to rancour’s cost, succumb.
And ne’er–not ere for thee–white horses come.

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

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Sonnet I: What Is Lost

Posted by David Emeron on

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:

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Sonnet IX: The Damned

Posted by David Emeron on

Sell all your daughters and enslave your sons;
And pray they find a swift mortality;
Loot boys of childhood, strapped to bombs and guns;
And stone the little girls, once made you smile;

And close your eyes or turn your back; destroy,
Make hard your heart, to this reality;
Unclothe your helpless infant girls and boys
And mutilate them all; deaf to this vile

Lament; and let their wailing be the first
As worship to their god’s brutality;
Your agonising life and theirs is cursed;
Kindness… mercy… and love… are all a trial.

Unchained, you’ll wish a stranger peace and life;
Most likely on your way to stone your wife.

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

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Sonnet VIII: The Craven and the Valiant

Posted by David Emeron on

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:

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