Tag Archives: sonnet

Ambitions of Man

I’ve seen the void and the void has seen me.
There is a tendency for reclaiming.
For a shadow: light, one can’t be blaming.
I, we all have become shadows, here see,
In the nothing we’re remaining to be.
Under a burning hot star, we’re slaving;
Futile mastery: elements taming.
Mankinds greed, a target too high for me.
The earth bows to no man; man to no one.
A forgotten creator looks down on
The ambitions of man under the sun.
And four fold to pay back what was stolen,
The debt in place, the back it’s borne upon,
Having been paid, He collects from no one.

Cold End

The coming dawn, I know it to be cold.
From a distance: voices, faces, in mist,
Are illusions lurking, or so I’m told.
In their discourse, they wildly insist
That if they fervently wish to be real,
It is so. Without permission they lease,
Manafest strange feelings for me to feel,
These things that cause my worries to increase.
A cold path waits for me after waking.
The morning sun abhors my taking warmth,
And I find no heat from it worth taking.
They, in the mist, wish for me to go forth.
Nothing before me but my bitter end:
A garden of sorrow, which I must tend.

A Necessity of Tears

Holding onto grief like wilting flowers,
Their beauty is not a gift just for you,
But me; for a passing of the hours.
We all hold our own wilting flowers, true,
So there is no reason to give you mine.
I’ll hold onto these as you do to yours,
One more won’t wilt; I won’t repay in kind.
I’ll keep mine to me, I won’t create more.
All flowers simply wilt before they dry.
This. When the waters they may need are tears,
It is what’s necessary when we cry.
One lets go of this, one lets go of fear.
This. How we heal, how we make flowers bloom.
How we refuse the hearts death and heal soon.

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Lucida

She was born and Lucida was her name.
Constant was her existential crisis
To her condition lay all of the blame
And pass responsibility of this
To nobody else per her solitude.
To her, it seemed, others were too distant.
Possessing this mindset, this attitude,
She has borne the cold mask of dissidence.
She would soon discover, but now unknown,
Like those of the sky: Vega and Rigel,
She among many, the brightest to glow.
What is seen on her surface predicts well
The beauty within only others see.
She’ll learn she is as much as she believes.

Against Cold Tide

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One more cold wind and all that it sustains:
Sad dreams, feigned smiles, but more so the latter.
Beneath the placid surface calm remains
Before the storm, all I have to catch her.
I cannot gain or get any closer.
She is a vapor, in essence a breath.
This race. I can’t say what it has cost her;
It’s sure to lead to her untimely death.
She is the fragile calm before the storm,
The lonely rock standing against cold tide.
What can I do with a sad maiden, torn?
Nothing but simply remain by her side.
Sad dreams?  Not for long. Short lived are feigned smiles.
Through the light and dark I’ll stay all the while.

Writing on the Wall

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All of the dark memories on the wall
Tell of a story long past, she cannot.
She has seen the pieces and watched them fall,
She’s jealous of those able, who forgot.
Want for tokens unwanted, expired.
Seeking ways to leave the past to the past,
This mausoleum she would retire,
Were these memories from her mind not cast.
She sees the hand, on the wall is writing,
Taken as inevitable and bad.
With these thoughts she is constantly fighting,
She lost. Her life eternal isn’t sad.
Were I to disagree, some would concur,
Though who’s to say the writing was for her?

Afraid to Say

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These hands that hold my mouth closed, force my words
Back into a void cave, wishing release.
My silence grows, like so many caged birds,
In this well of censors I can’t appease.
Truly, I’m not powerless to resist,
Yet fear, my nemesis, paralyzer.
Fearing not change, but the resulting list
Of failure, by she, the analyzer.
I must stand and resist her, fear of change.
The fear of what I am meaning to say.
I will succeed though the fear still remains.
Therein it will drive my courage today.
I look back on the battle for my soul,
I, with clear eyes see, the hands were my own.