Two sonnets concerning love and lovers. |
Sonnets, written for a class. Of all the beauties gracing good on earth, Your lovely eyes outshine them all with ease, And steal my heart and all I have of worth With one smooth motion, tickling iv’ry keys. You hammer heartstrings, strung within my breast, And Cupid rubs his poison arrow ‘round The ribbing wound about my longing, rests On heart, and writes his awful music down. Sustaining chords and soaring melodies, That vibrate through my body and my soul, You touch my insides, gently, like the keys, Without the blessed stroke to make me whole. But then you speak, and I remember why I never should have set my hopes so high. My love is not my lover, though I hope With all my might he might one day become The one I lean on when I’m feeling dumb, Or numb, or happy; ready to elope. I would be warm, contented in his arms, And nothing could disturb my happiness. I’d praise whatever god would chose to bless Me with this wonder, give to me this charm. Alas, but I am cold and wander free Of any god who’d stoop to grant my dream A chance to live in this uncaring world. It never makes a difference that my plea Repeats again, again, without a gleam Of hope, or even chance, to be unfurled. |