Sonnet 16
Love, let this moment live in memory.
Though in the darkest trenches of despair,
a pit deeper than death itself in thee,
your body worn and wrenched with disrepair,
don’t let your black tears fall without a cause.
For though the night seems endless now, the sun
will always shine anew, and without pause,
you may forget this sadness when it’s done.
But if you do, night will return again
and drown your heart in pain each time it does.
You must remember it! for that is when
you find the heaven-steps leading above,
and not the fickle stops that play relief.
Remember this: through sorrow, there is peace.
Sonnet 15
I wake from fevered drifting in the night,
my brain a torpid, aching clump of dust.
My eyes are heavy tumors without sight;
they ache as they go burning through the dusk
that smudges past the window. Flat and wide
the landscape reaches; we are left exposed
to hungry galaxies and winking skies
who threaten to consume our party whole,
which presently is made of flopping dolls
with whitened flesh that gleams between the greige.
I shrink with fear… but then my arms recall
their load, and I can recognize her face.
This realization frees me from alarm:
a guarding angel sleeps between my arms.
Since We Were Five
I’m not sure if you know that I’m alive;
although, to tell the truth, I can’t blame you.
I’ve been in love with you since we were five.
You must be used to seeing me beside
your desk or table while we were at school.
I’m not sure if you know that I’m alive.
While you were playing soccer with the guys,
you kicked a bit too hard and lost your shoe.
It’s then I fell in love with you, at five.
But after middle school, I realized
that all the other boys must like you too.
I’m still not sure you know that I’m alive.
I know I have no chance, but I still try
to say, like people in the movies do,
“I’ve been in love with you since we were five.”
But I’m a coward. I can’t meet your eyes,
however desperately I wish you knew:
I’m not sure if you know that I’m alive;
I’ve been in love with you since we were five.
Light and Dark
When solving quarrels, some prefer the light;
Some stay in the dark.
If talking seems to stop the fight
then let those people choose the light.
But as for me, I must remark
that distance and a lack of speech
can shade the issue in the dark
to let it sleep
and snuff the spark.
The Storming
While I await the winter’s eye,
a wind, a wind begins to whistle,
whooshing fast. Now faster flying,
freedom found through thick and thistle!
Shaking shacks on stormy wharf
and breaking waves astride the stone,
a crashing dash upon the stone!
Oh wind and din, leave me alone!
But soft, but soft, It slows. It stops.
Now pitter-pat, a bitter tap,
a rap, a slap, upon the lattice.
Soon a hiss, a stormy sound,
all silence squandered, drowned, unfound.
It chatters so supremely strangely,
chill like children at their game.
A crack!
A quick snap!
Brightly flash.
A rolling boom! I’m doomed, I swoon,
the quaking room—the room is shaking!—
though safely sheltered from the storming.
Softly, slowly, tapping tapers,
snapping pops like crackling papers,
subside… droplets, dripping later
fall from cloud into the lake.
They’re all that’s left of winter’s wrath,
and I am left with aftermath.
