Sonnet (Full Version)

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DrFaustus -> Sonnet (5/3/2004 7:05:24 AM)

Our Fledgling Reality

The highest joy can so easily become the deepest pain
When what was made real by two becomes the floundering fantasy of one,
For love is true for two, but for one is only insane,
And then, the greatest beauty burns away like a moth flying into the sun.
Our love is our fledgling child, more fragile than one newborn,
Feeding on our faith in our love, ourselves, and each other.
Let not our baby from loving parents be torn
Neither let doubt, fear, nor weakness cause it to smother.
My steadfast insanity will give you the space you need to make yourself sure,
For I can endure the pain of reality obscured when there's hope of your light
And that you might love me all the more and our love will endure
Beyond our lives to the gods, mortals, and our own delight.
Yet, for all the pain of which I complain, I prefer a love insane
To the dark black void of doubt that is seen by the world as sane.




MistressDREAD -> RE: Sonnet (5/3/2004 8:22:21 AM)

BEAUTIFULLY SAD




DrFaustus -> RE: Sonnet (5/5/2004 12:25:29 PM)

Thanks again. Since sonnets seem to be popular here's another one:

Elizabethan Sonnet

My Love, thou dost now ask I play my sweet music which pleases,
Yet thy lips hath graced my lips and, in sooth, I needs must play
Upon thy living flesh and not upon this dead wood which teases
The ears that affect the mind with Eros' fantasies all day.
My music is but a weak imitation of love's tender embrace,
Which so moves the soul, without translation through the inconstant mind,
And my soul is therefore better revealed by kissing thy lovely face
Than through any medium of science or art that thou or I could find.
When we touch, we fly, and are no longer of the binding Earth.
Our flesh becomes a moist medium by which our spirits enter
Each other and then to higher worlds, each higher level a higher birth.
Yet the tremendous power that moves us so is not there but within thy center.
How canst thou deny thy rights to ascend to these highest of heights,
Or deny me thy lovely instrument so necessary for these flights?




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