Sonnets for My Love

I watched the stars alone at night with her
and wondered whether I should not go home,
and sit and read some other blessèd tome
that to me sacred blessings would confer.
I thought that from her look I might infer
a gentle soul kept safe ‘neath crystal dome
that to my wand’ring heart should speak a poem
whose verses would her love to me transfer.
While sitting up some lonely night alone,
I cursed my courage that had failed me then
and wept that all the world should see me cry:
I am a piece of chaff the wind has blown.
I think that since her time that I now ken
that loveless life is life that ought to die.

It took me too much time to understand
that life will pass one by if left unchecked.
When I left her that night, her love I wrecked,
for life till then so long I’d left unplanned,
and left unplanned, life slid by me like sand,
one foolish action too much to correct;
I felt her then begin to disconnect
and on my back no more felt I her hand.
The souls of wand’ring hearts go out alone
and suffer silently a bitter ill
that cripples even stronger hearts than mine,
while stronger hearts know what they can condone:
They seek the love that absence cannot kill
for it’s a love that for love does not pine.

One foolish action! one is all it takes
to show a lover that you do not care
and that perhaps to end the soft affair
is all that’s left to heal a heart that breaks.
Yet I fault not her love that me forsakes,
for all too often it’s too much to bear
when to a hobby love you then compare:
for deep within her heart a doubt then wakes.
Oh, love is not a boastful thing, mind you:
it oft in silence bears so great a load
that often times a sorrow might unfold.
Love will not sound a trumpet nor give cue
when heavy loads will force it from the road
of life, to us its story left untold.

Ah, love is like a great unwinding thing
that reaches arms ‘cross distances untold
whose object is in vow to have and hold
and many blessings from on high to bring.
Yet many here scorn love that oft will sing
of tenderness and hearts that shine like gold
when it in true form casts out all the cold;
they scoff, for to them love’s a bitter sting.
Both sorrow and great gladness it can bring:
love unreturned can make a good man hate
and turn all gold to leaves and green to grey;
though other times, love can complete the ring
and make two halves be one and there create
a new heart that true oneness will convey.