Sonnet VII: Helpless

So dark within this place, what is this grey
Like velvet fire that would my hand subdue?
Can this–such sweetest pliancy as may
Command my strength to helplessness–be true?

What should I from this helplessness construe
That further took my senses night from day?
Though ne’er would I this mastery through
Any means demand, excepting I obey.

I take what is demanded and delay,
As valiantly I must, what is my due;
And all this tempest, bid me on its way,
Is great in all it promiseth anew.

Much more thou knew’st than wouldst thou ever say;
Thy sweetness grew that burned my will away.

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

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Sonnet I: Alighted Grace

But sleek, one shape as wondrously soft,
More perfect in its drape than might one think;
And such, should be perfection held aloft,
That by this, would its height so make one sink.

For perfectly it thwarts ones every thought;
So pliant-smooth it courts by its design,
That brought so every instinct as it ought;
Requires nary thought to intertwine.

More alien than truly might one guess;
As fell another species though from sky;
Alighted grace, such beauty as would bless
The altar of my sleep, this place whereby,

As master and as slave, I feel anew;
Each moment strave my every wish come true!

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

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Sonnet II: Sleep and Death

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: Humility

Wherefore hath gone Humility, this Gift
That God hath given thee, that thou wouldst cast
So easily aside? Away so fast
His pearl hath been asunder set adrift

Therein; from thee this place so deep and vast
Must hide.  So precious, thou hast thrown so swift
Away His all-forgiving Shrift, ‘twould lift
Ye all together and astride.  Thou hast

His Spirit sore forsook, Thyatrian,
His word mistook, His boundless grace undone
And misapplied.  Who then art thou who tried
His Grace–Galatian, His Gifts replace–
When to and through the law His Son hath died?
Yet still shall He forgive and thee embrace!

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