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"Resolve
yourselves apart: I'll come to you anon. "
Sonnet desperados
While trying to put together a sonnet sequence, I found myself writing poems that
really didn't fit my theme. I've been considering breaking my sequence into two for
a while, so perhaps I can find a nice round hole for these square pegs. For the mean
time, however, they must stand secluded.
If I could ever trust heaven would die,
Perhaps I'd love it as I love you now,
And mourn for every silver glowing sky
If I thought they would pass, and every bough
Hang darkly in a night devoid of stars,
No comets sparking with their glitter tails
And Venus disappear, and war-like Mars
Would hide his head in death's long stygian trails.
But they live on; the cosmos is alight
And you are lustrous too, but o so brief
Before you flare and fade from loving sight
And only stars remain to share my grief.
I'll not begrudge the moon its ancient shine
But I'll love more my mortal valentine.
I find I've nothing left in me to give
For I donated all my love before
And you were unimpressed. So now I live
Alone, but excavate for precious ore
Within my being that could be refined
Into a substance you could hold more dear
Than flesh or heart or bone or empty mind.
But I find only fool's gold buried here.
I tricked you into thinking I was real
Just once before, but have no solid thought
Of doing so again, nor wish to feel
The living iron of the lie I wrought.
So silently I burrow in the earth
To find a resource that my soul is worth.
Irrationality is not my fear.
I cannot worry for my state of mind.
No proof is necessary for a clear
Decision to be reached. But every kind
And gentle instinct begs of me to wait.
In breathless hush when panic stills my feet
Ignoring eyes on fire as tears abate
And blinking even stops. Afraid to greet
Inaction, and yet too afraid to act,
I know what I must do and yet I pause
To spite the trust that I have never lacked
In intellect. I've made internal laws
Of conservation of my mental state
By anchoring inertia to my fate.
Do you find it amazing how one pain
Can seem to overtake the living world
And crush big bangs back into motes again?
And dying, screaming, consciousness is hurled
Into a black and complicated dance
Of stupefaction, like a body drunk
And mere existence hasn't got a chance
Extending cells whose walls have all been shrunk.
So tighter now, constricting is the thrum
Of leaden feet gone stomping through my veins
And standing on my eyes, and making drums
Of molars, thrashing nerves with hurricanes
Of thoughtless pain. 'Till in pervading ill
I am not I, and yet can feel me still.
I lie in bed and listen to your heart,
And know that any moment it may cease.
So many times I find I play the part
Of stethoscope to diagnose some peace,
But not in silence. Never more the still
And solitary joy of quietude.
I listen to your pulse as if the trill
Of mockingbirds can sing within your blood.
It is a sound more musical than Brahms
That thumps beneath the vigilance of ears
Attuned to finding terror in the calm.
Unwittingly, your heart allays my fears.
Its clamor grows to canopy our bed,
Resounding sweetly in my sleepy head.
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