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Our Path Full of Whispers, part 1

Sonnet for Antony and Cleopatra
Two Empires Entwined
He gave up Rome to chase her scented air,
 A queen whose kiss could rouse the Nile to sing.
 Her throne was gold, but love her finer snare,
 And he, ensnared, abandoned crown and ring.
 They met as equals, each with pride unbowed,
 Yet love turned war when passion dared to steer.
 In veils of silk and ash, their vows were loud,
 But silence came—his sword, her asp of fear.
 No sweeter end than death beside one’s flame,
 Yet tragic too, when fire consumes the frame.
 For love that seeks to rule will stake its claim,
 And call devotion by possession's name.
 Thus Rome and Egypt met and wept their cost:
 A love unbalanced leaves two empires lost.

Sonnet for Héloïse and Abélard
The Chaste Divide
In cloistered halls where mind and passion burned,
 Two scholars met in verse and midnight thought.
 But virtue’s call their boundless joy upturned,
 And flesh was chastened for the sin it brought.
 She loved him still when time had torn him down,
 And wore no ring, yet wed him in her soul.
 His letters bled regret beneath the gown,
 Yet dared not ask if she was truly whole.
 He taught her love, then walled her voice in vows,
 A gift made prison, though he called it grace.
 She loved with fire; he sought a sacred house,
 But holiness cannot her truth replace.
 Love hides in silence, if not met halfway:
 Two pens still write, but drift in disarray.

Sonnet for Henry and Anne
The Crown and the Guillotine
He broke from Rome to wear her raven eyes,
 A king undone by lust’s impatient flame.
 She danced through court with wit that pierced disguise,
 And turned ambition into courtly game.
 But crowns weigh heavy on a womb unmet,
 And favors sour when sons do not appear.
 He praised her once; then damned her with regret,
 And sealed her fate with whispers sharp and clear.
 She knelt for love and rose for blade and bell,
 Her neck a debt to power’s shifting tide.
 He called it justice—none dared break the spell,
 Though all could see how false was kingly pride.
 So ends the bride who bore the Tudor stain:
 Love, once owned, will never breathe again.

(continued)

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