Crown of Sonnets - Love

Written by: Thomas Peterlin

I heard so long before, crying from fields where blow

it 'round the lonely stones, hair-waving gentleness.

Were it a poison o, still I would ride its breeze,

trailing so finely forgetting resentfulness.

How can it worry, when ne’r does it lack its ease

Winding and binding the waters and highest cloud?

Oh that I could have run past those unbending trees,

For to return to the land were my thoughts ring loud

when the breeze takes me away from this bleakest light.

Unto the storm! I go unto its lighten’d shroud!

Perverted science, our earth, oh our earth in plight.

Need them we never shall, for we shall never leave.

Stormy winds blow past our necks, and the gods, they know

When ones like we have found what they could never show.


Me, oh for me, thus myself low, in mourning. Such

men blame themselves, their lost love from whence hope arose.

Hope, it depends only on wishes ne’r conceiv’d

past what primordial dreams that men hold so close.

Fantastic imag’ry, happiness here receiv’d,

tells himself that which he wishes so much to hear.

How can a man so himself cover, so deceiv’d?

How did he think that this love, unthought, would appear?

How can he walk down this rail-thin road while so blind?

Whether he wonder’d if living or not, its here!

Sailing across the sea, riding waves, felt so kind.

Parted his life when his glass house did shatter, and

there in the fields, he lie on his back, pain’d so much.

Where was his love? Could it have been in fleeting touch? 

 
Cried out he did when his life shatter’d ‘fore his eyes.

He wanted never to look back with morose face,

Only look forward to future loves, of this kind.

Laughter and joyous voice, sounded in man’s cold race,

touch’d by the countless works of dissilusion’d mind,

art from adversity, love from the artist’s heart,

pain’d from eternal grief, mark’d by eternal grind,

in love’s name, his one wish, from whence his hope would part.

Realiz’d that his heart will never see love again,

Turn’d to in desp’rate resistance against his heart,

winds, rays, and waters, his void fill’d with life again,

Were it a poison o, still he would ride the breeze.

Love loses meaning, emotion, no more he cries,

Only the sun, the stars and dark, cool ev’ning skies.



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Dactyllic Alexandrine