Run, you, my one,
To lands wherein the dreams
Within your heart
Are golden doors
That ever whirl
Into your home

Let there be sun
To bask within and streams
That never part
And glowing moors
At every turn
For you to roam

And when you’re done
A hand for you, serene,
And vivid art
To go explore
With wings unfurled
But not alone

For you, my one,
Are more than any dream
In any heart
Or any door
To any world
I’ve ever known


Alas, I see the sun as full as moons upon the dusk
And e’re I see the light consumes
Another mere costume upon your husk

Where I conceive illumination set upon your mask
My own a face of rumination
Haunted so in ruination’s task

Letting so the fire flicker, feeding on your shade
With your shadow slow receding
Darkness from the glow, the meeting bade

Wondering, and much, have I uncovered or revealed
The face of one like any other
Just another errant lover’s leal?

Or, in my unveiling, have I slighted who you are?
To see you ever pale, benighted
By a lamp no brighter than your star


What place is left for us
The we who pass
Where others smile, lust,
And seem to laugh

Where sorrow touched, our eyes
See ever marred
As wings of butterflies
Now kept in jars

And how do they behold
With little tear
The fireflies that slowed
And disappeared

When to our mirrored form
We hold them tight
While others see the morn
We bid goodnight


Would that I could become nothing but wood
For the weakness of me to be naught but the leaves
And the figure I am be allowed to withstand
All the storms that demand that I leave and for good

Would that you shine but a spark of your time
On the sliver of coal that was given a soul
And too little a heart, and too brittle to start
Out of hope there’s a part of the whole unresigned

Would that I will so much more than I feel
When I hope for a sending of hope never-ending
That says to a letter, I’m heard for the better
And not for the fetter’s offending reveal

Would that you say but a word to allay
Give a resonant note from your hesitant throat
A compassionate tone in this world so alone
And I find, like a home, such a heart that would not turn away


There’s little room
For flowers here to bloom
For far too much debris
Was left of thee

And even weeds
Do struggle from their seeds
And die beneath the brine
Of mourning’s shrine

Where mornings shine
Upon the lonely sign
To roads no longer there
And valleys bare

For me to stare
And, dreadfully, still care
For planted seeds of you
That never grew


Where the light of sun begins to dapple
Feathers white to shift my dour plumes
Here where waxen fingers yearn to grapple
Fires deep within a world of fumes

Touching slight to stillborn constellations
Where the space between was never pale
Torn away, my gauntlet of frustration
With a song for beauty to regale

Chiseled slow my own Venus de Milo
Painted thus within the mer de noms
To emerge a hue between a smile
And the lips to kiss, I ever long

Cradled low in gossamer I’m weaving
Rivers Lethean that keep believing


Will sonnets be the breath of life to raise
From waters deep where hands could never save?
And gift a fluttering from glowing eyes
And lips to part with words and knowing sighs
Til pulse and poetry so beat the same
The code of Morse that taps your very name
Where every pause, the parallel of press
Of finger tips, the metronome’s caress
Where rhythms of the heart can match the chord
That played again as once they played before
And be the song that morning meant to sing
Before it knew the fear of any sting
The breath that finally bid you cause to rise
From deep within the ocean of goodbyes

I think this is my first attempt at a sonnet. Granted, I don’t think they normally use seven back-to-back rhyming couplets, but oh well…I think it still qualifies since it’s fourteen lines and uses iambic pentameter even if it doesn’t use the generally accepted Petrarchan or Shakespearean rhyme schemes.