Intermezzo: Cosmic Irony

Sonnet XIII

Goodbye, I say, to that which I've held dear
In spite of no returns of what I'd said
Today or last or years no longer here.
Let go this err and slowly rest its head.
Goodbye, to you, and talks that never flew
Beyond the paltry sums of bygone days.
And never past the words that spoke untrue
Of failed intents; I never did amaze.
I say goodbye but mean not an offence
But simply bid farewell to that which meant
The world to me. So now I leave here, hence,
And walk the winding roads: some straight, some bent.
Farewell to thee; do not look back to these
But move in grace while I fade to the breeze.

Sonnet XII

I'll never stand amongst the tailored crowd,
Set still to cut away the newest one
Who'll march along in time with faces proud
And hands that join before the setting sun.
I'll not be one to win with a masked face
And smiles that feign a man who is approved
By those who do conform and render grace
When honesty and truth are then removed.
I'll not be pushed to fit the mold to please,
Where wit and mind and soul do none to sail
Among the troubled tempests of these seas
Where others' dying ships and crews do fail.
Now that I've lost in this endearing quest,
I urge this better man to do his best.

Sonnet XI

In setting up the question that bears death
I saw no fault in ways that walked to ask.
But cities fall and man turns to the breath
From whence it came. All ends with this small task.
With these black eyes I see the one who'd win
Her holy hand, with crimson bonds approved.
If union serve their choir be, mine din.
If gold they be, this rust must be removed.
All those in last walk on; if fourth or third
Or closer still, as if in second-place,
Words writ will fall in vain; they'll not be heard;
Now gone from suitor's eyes her wand'ring grace.
I once had faith and hope, the loves of man;
Though now this failure ends 'fore it began.

Sonnet X

Oh fate, you've pushed me to accept your deal;
Surrender all that I've seen fit to give.
I once had hope but night did come and steal
Those winds that made these faithful sails to live.
I've seen the melody harmonious
In twisting their own fated strands to hold,
Where once I stood erroneous
To speak with naught against a wall of gold.
And this quick truth does now mark a descent
Of dying loves where once there had been life
Placed with the night on a dead man's crescent,
Though forced in vain to live in endless strife.
Now to the victor go these saintly spoils
While to the grave go ghosts of these last toils.

Sonnet IX

The pen has stopped this weak and humble mind,
And truth made blind these quick and fading eyes.
Thoughts dance about, those which do move behind
Fall's cold and dying sun. This love, it dies,
When placed beneath the face of judging life.
But when it sees the dreams and fates of man
It grows against the parting sorrow's strife
And does grow strong in spite of time's own span.
So why do I leave torment for this love,
That dies and lives again as with the tide?
Perhaps it moves with fate from God above
Or with strange thoughts, with logic pushed aside.
I've never yet to set this love to fade
Else it would die in others' lasting shade.

Sonnet VIII

If this be less than bold forgive the tone;
I thought of ways to tell you this small truth.
First frank speech, perhaps you and I alone,
But I recalled the letdowns of past youth.
I write this sonnet now in earnest fear,
I've thought of it before, but my heart dropped.
I've set to ask of you, in my words dear,
And seek response before time's hands have stopped.
A supper quick, on a December night,
Six past the noon and second of the days.
A friend has gifted me this rich delight;
Think not of funds, for neither of us pays.
Gift my own heart with your response of "yes"
Or let it be, and never more progress.

Sonnet VII

I know not how to move, to give a life
To my own wand'ring thoughts or questions deep
That deal with adoration. Present strife
Does rear its head in my light valour's sleep.
A supper asked, if luck be kind to speech,
Would sing to her had I the knighthood's heart.
The art of film would welcome her to reach
Words joined to wit, and nevermore apart.
I've sat and dreamt of ways to win her "yes",
But never have I found a way to talk.
I only wish for her, in love, to bless
My ears and heart; take those first steps and walk.
Still I do think I never will amass
The nerve to ask her to a night, fair lass.

Sonnet VI

On one cold night she did divulge a truth,
Apologies that fended off my thought
Of intellect. I did recall our youth
And wronged soliloquies which my heart caught.
No words were rendered under sense of mind.
In place of them were simple words of doubt,
Concerning authenticity. If blind
Love be, as sayings go, I walked without
My sense. Could chance appear for unrequite?
Did luck arrive for my unwav'ring hope?
Or was it false, to quell my dreams in spite,
And draw the tears to flow, to never cope.
Still I stand at a crossroads over vast
Decisions, and of love, that time has passed.

Sonnet V

Why then do I make haste in this travail?
Is it for dreams, ideal but never real?
Not reason; cooler minds never prevail,
Nor status; mine is lesser. Still I feel
Attraction to her mind, and soul, and wit.
On these I've built the talks that tear my heart
Yet build it up in time. I do admit
My choices seem recoiled. Did I depart
Just recently from a failed port on shore?
I tell the truth, I've sailed to fill a void
And in that quest time's forced it to be more.
In my own words, it's one that I've enjoyed.
It's for her comfort, kind and pure in sense
That comes through love, but first through my offence.

Sonnet IV

In vain I act to win her darling eyes
And yet I move without a suitor's grace.
The man I am, I look, and then despise
And move in shame to cover up my face.
Her words are those, with me, she does not share.
When we do speak we never share the bond
That graces loves. No empathy or care
Does she extend to me in my sad state.
This journey long I've walked but never quit,
I dream to reap the goals that can't be reached.
She's known the whole way through, and what of it?
This wall, I know quite true, cannot be breached.
But as we speak our hollow words in bliss
I fear this love for her will end a-miss.

Sonnet III

A yearbook first, a call of memories
To be drawn in, 'midst pages filled with lines
And lines of others' longing words. He sees
An int'rest underneath her friendly signs
Of faith. And from this quest he misconstrues
A love that might reciprocate his own.
In sharing drinks her words do not confuse
But rather lie. For this he can't atone
For the mistake he made in keeping faith
With one, as her, who'd rather move along.
The dawn of end is near, as is the wraith
To bring his death knell in the form of song.
It once had held the words for them to share:
"Everlong". And she, lost love, cannot care.

Sonnet II

I sit and write the words of days gone by:
Your spontaneity that gave sails wind
And my acceptance, letting my dreams fly.
I thought not of the time or how I'd sinned,
For time seemed not a player in our game.
A tapestry of schemes we weaved in stone,
It feigned our shared beliefs and would be name.
So then I ventured deep in the unknown
And with no torch I walked the barren lands
That once had been alight with your sweet smiles
While marked with guarantees by your swift hands.
In looking through the dark I walked past trials
Passing them with ease; I would not find your
Promises but lose you forevermore.

Sonnet I

If one should say the words they truly meant
Then shadows cast would be as long as nil.
Her words would not be misconstrued or bent
Nor would his talks be puzzling. Words were still;
They grew to move and set in stone the deals
Of days to come and walks that shared the sea.
But things did change for them as one who steals
And gives to poor: a failed gratuity.
Still though the thoughts that linger on resist
The calls of sense and logic calling forth
A new mindset to shun the love that missed.
But still those memories are gold in worth.
And lacking for these two are words that fall
And close the feud; if only by a call.

Whoso List to Hunt

Whoso list to hunt, I know where is an hind,
But as for me, hélas, I may no more.
The vain travail hath wearied me so sore,
I am of them that farthest cometh behind.
Yet may I by no means my wearied mind
Draw from the deer, but as she fleeth afore
Fainting I follow. I leave off therefore,
Sithens in a net I seek to hold the wind.
Who list her hunt, I put him out of doubt,
As well as I may spend his time in vain.
And graven with diamonds in letters plain
There is written, her fair neck round about:
"Noli me tangere," for Caesar's I am,
And wild for to hold, though I seem tame.

- Sir Thomas Wyatt