Tag Archives: Spirit

Sonnet III: Sublime

Posted by David Emeron on

Express, shall I, what nature, perfect, is?
Thine every fibre, doth it answer me;
And giveth, every answer, what thou wilt;
But shalt thou, my reflection, never be.

So shall my sweet surround, make perfect bliss;
Thine answer’s twist doth make mine arms surround;
And maketh gather up, and without guilt,
Again, to make this circle thus abound.

I promise then, that wheresoever this,
Our passion, taketh thee beyond the world;
Thine answer, sweetest, never to be spilt,
No matter, gathered up, where art thou hurled.

Wherever then, I pledge, that dost thou sway;
So fast, mine hold, wilt not thou twist away.

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

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Intro 3: Instinct

Posted by David Emeron on

Every twist and turn
Makes me hold you more tightly.
You can’t get away.

You know you are safe.
No matter where you may go.
I have to hold on.

Twist and slide, knowing
That I can always find you.
You can not get lost.

We are made this way.
Like hand and glove we are made.
That’s how well we fit.

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Sonnet: Lucky

Posted by David Emeron on

How can it be that three such friends are blest
With symmetry sublime, doth fit with grace?
What joy, when maketh bonds, that do they see
Such lives so delicately interlace?

So beautifully sinful are they pressed
As each to one another, as they dance;
Yet faithful, and sublime felicity,
Doth somehow over all and each advance.

When first I saw them, to myself, professed
That they, with all my strength, would I protect;
And swore, to this, an oath of secrecy
An any, give me aid, must needs respect;

And thank Whate’er professéd deity
Who brought to light these blesséd, lucky, three.

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Sonnet: Faith

Posted by David Emeron on

My Lord, what is this folly, curse or prize
That Thou hast given to this child of Thine;
Perhaps, an answer to a prayer of mine;
Perhaps, an irony which satisfies

My very heart? Yet should I emphasize
The very art–particularly fine–
With which I am denied that sweetest wine:
That wish come true? If Thou wert truly wise,

Or simply knew what works of Thine were done,
I cannot but believe that gift would be
A sweetly kind and patronizing one;
Demanding nothing very real from me.
Considering the works I’ve done for Thee,
Couldst not Thou simply deign to set me free?

Sonnet: Safe

Posted by David Emeron on

Is it starlight–doth shimmer down from sky,
Bereft of cloud, that doth pretend such grace?
And is it moonlight, floating down, as show
She doth, configuration’s subtle face–

As though, to cover all, she doth thereby
Intrude, and douse these tiny candles–cool,
As her reflection, ripples undergo,
With counter-sparkle in a quiet pool?

Is it lamplight–that doth she overfly
From out a window, for its calm, perform?
Or is it firelight, setting us aglow,
For which she doth abound, surrounding warm?

Her hand, doth she, Romantic, try her charm
Protecting us from storm, and so from harm.