Here is a trilogy of sonnets I wrote about Love (they were originally posted in the forum of the said name, but naturally hardly anyone goes there). I'm not convinced that some of them are that great, so perhaps you could critique. Please tell me which poem is the best of the three IYO, and which poem makes the least sense. Please let me know if there is a line/passage or word which makes no sense and I will attempt to clarify. Thanks. I hope to improve my sonnet writing capabilities, especially since it is one of my favorite mediums for verse.
[Also, They are written in the order that I wrote them. The 1st was last fall and the most recent was two weeks ago.]
[Also, They are written in the order that I wrote them. The 1st was last fall and the most recent was two weeks ago.]
Quote:
What Manner of love, that we love each day?
That we forget pain, and live for the now;
That we hide ourselves, beneath furrowed brow.
What the incentive, why do we delay?
Why not show ourselves, why do we not pray?
For release from our stormy souls, made foul
By the graven problems, we still do plow
Through the deep, furrowed field of great dismay.
But just when great dismay grabs hold of life,
We stop and glance beyond our field of strife.
And then we feel warm hands press to ours,
And ruts once filled with mud, now bloom with flowers.
And so these hands, they guide us through and through -
All because we prayed, and prayers come true.
That we forget pain, and live for the now;
That we hide ourselves, beneath furrowed brow.
What the incentive, why do we delay?
Why not show ourselves, why do we not pray?
For release from our stormy souls, made foul
By the graven problems, we still do plow
Through the deep, furrowed field of great dismay.
But just when great dismay grabs hold of life,
We stop and glance beyond our field of strife.
And then we feel warm hands press to ours,
And ruts once filled with mud, now bloom with flowers.
And so these hands, they guide us through and through -
All because we prayed, and prayers come true.
Quote:
Might I but live that I should live with might?
And claim all for mine what there is to claim?
Or should’st I dream by day and not by night?
And take life day by day always the same?
Might I but live with pleasure my sole aim?
And live my own life how I’d like alone?
Or should’st I shift my life beyond a game?
And work and toil by day with gasp and groan?
Might I but live for love of golden loans?
And the sweet clink of coin upon cold coin?
Or should’st I turn my thoughts to the unknown?
And risk my life on what I don’t enjoin?
But I will live for something more than this,
That which guarantees love’s eternal bliss.
And claim all for mine what there is to claim?
Or should’st I dream by day and not by night?
And take life day by day always the same?
Might I but live with pleasure my sole aim?
And live my own life how I’d like alone?
Or should’st I shift my life beyond a game?
And work and toil by day with gasp and groan?
Might I but live for love of golden loans?
And the sweet clink of coin upon cold coin?
Or should’st I turn my thoughts to the unknown?
And risk my life on what I don’t enjoin?
But I will live for something more than this,
That which guarantees love’s eternal bliss.
Quote:
How fares a broken heart with burdened love?
That likes to love, but chooses not to chase?
So like a bird that drops from sky above
That hides among the reeds with teary face.
This heart still lives, and yet it is contained
Within a cell that holds its bitter cries
Day by day its blood is chilled and drained
Though sorrow remains, the heart never dies.
As surely as blood pulses through its veins
The heart abides in lonesome retrospects
It perseveres and so its soul remains,
Due only to a deeper love’s affects.
Among all love, the strongest must be true
The kind of love that lives each day anew.
That likes to love, but chooses not to chase?
So like a bird that drops from sky above
That hides among the reeds with teary face.
This heart still lives, and yet it is contained
Within a cell that holds its bitter cries
Day by day its blood is chilled and drained
Though sorrow remains, the heart never dies.
As surely as blood pulses through its veins
The heart abides in lonesome retrospects
It perseveres and so its soul remains,
Due only to a deeper love’s affects.
Among all love, the strongest must be true
The kind of love that lives each day anew.
