Tag Archives: True

Sonnet III: Scions

Posted by David Emeron on

More tragic still are They Who, yet unborn,
May never be; or Who, once born were not
To ever see what prize Their Birthright bought.
Olympian, Their Blood aflame; yet mourn

They not, for know They not, how They were torn
From out Their Mothers’ Arms while still She fought,
Believing They, with Holy Blood, could naught
But thrive. They know Their Legacy as scorn;

Yet not why They, your legions, chafe to join.
‘Til you, upon Their Mothers’ Throne, decree
And point “This is a god; and this is not.”
Defining ugliness as beauty, point
And sneer “Art thou as beautiful as we?”
But fear to know the answer you have wrought.

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

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Intro 3: I Think I Now See:

Posted by David Emeron on

How will evil fall?
Shall it be ground underneath
Purely distilled truth?

Truth and good and right
And beauty cannot be stopped.
Many will have died–

For this, gladly die.
For truth is all that we have.
Truth, and nothing else.

All beauty and right
All goodness and all kindness
Come from perfect truth.

Distilled by reason
Distilled by our harmony
With the truth itself.

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Sonnet II: Exiles

Posted by David Emeron on

More tragic are those Gods who still remain.
Olympus fell; yet cast about Them thrice,
You’ve wrapped Them up in filthy sheets of ice;
And jeer that none will recognize Their Reign.

Though hidden in plain sight, so great remain
These Paragons of Beauty; Their Devices–
Their Sublime Creations–could entice,
Enlighten, and inspire, if Their Domain
Were not so hidden, frozen, and unclear.

Yet through your filth, such Gods might still be seen;
Though locked beneath a century’s demean.
If one unbidden eye should chance to turn,
A mortal soul might taintless beauty learn;
And this is what you meretricious fear.

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

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Sonnet I: Waiting Is

Posted by David Emeron on

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:

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Sonnet VI: If Only Knewest Thou

Posted by David Emeron on

If thou aboundest not with glory, seek
Thou ever this; for if thy world is rife
With glory’s joy, shalt thou abound to speak;
And shalt abound with glory in thy life.

So joyous wouldst thou ever, if thy place
Should, once, thy glory sing; although oblique,
And ne’er regard thy lack of fame, disgrace,
As such; though  fame and glory are unique.

Devoid of one another, both exist.
Though righteous one, the former may debase,
Impossible, unbidden, to resist.
So seek must thou this blessing, to embrace

That strife will fail to find thee in its midst–
The knife that in thy glory, yearns to twist.

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

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Sonnet III: Take Thy Care

Posted by David Emeron on

Above all, tend thy body, treat not cavalier
The vessel of thy mind and soul; for where
Thy foolishness, ephemera revere,
So ever, doth for each, the other care.

What providence might I impart of this!?
What bounty bring, avoiding such despair.
If not such caution, would I be remiss?
This wisdom, give I thee, beyond compare.

I yearn to tell the ease thou shouldst have won;
Or how simplicity wouldst bring thee bliss;
And wish thy time for these could be outdone–
Not lateness now these choosings reminisce.

Though ne’er may be these hands of time outrun;
So could thine ease much sooner have begun.

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

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