Three more sonnets for fictional lovers

A key you give, to free me from my chains

gladly received. I wish in truth it would

unlock the bonds, break open what remains.

I'd bear the lash, if cost be paid in blood.

What would I choose, if I to choose were free?

What twisting path, the calling of my heart?

To choose a life, to choose a love, to see,

I lack the skill. Some bonds will never part.

Some chains are of the soul, or of the will,

some forced, some sold, yet some are freely taken.

Some I chafe against, yet bear them still,

to others I will cling, or be forsaken.

And so, though you may hand to me the key,

the lock is held yet by cruel fate's decree.

One voice alone can only do so much

a single line, a simple melody.

One voice alone another's heart may touch

but feather-light. It is in harmony -

in voiced joined - that true music is made.

Those aching chords, that soaring ecstasy,

that lingers long, though notes themselves do fade

to feed the soul. Speak of simplicity

of solo string, or fierce orchestral might -

I tell you true, not one of them compare

to your sweet voice, so glorious, so bright.

To sing with you, I'll raise my voice and dare.

Lay bare my love, so I might beg of thee

to join me in euphoric harmony.

Give me pain, my love, and sweetest bliss

I’ll take from you, or none at all

I’ll bear the whip, the chains, all this,

and cry for more. I’ll scream. I’ll crawl

for you, but you. Only at your hand

will I bear the lash. Only in your fist

I’ll place the knife. Only your command

I will obey. Only for your kiss

I will submit. Do what you will,

bind me, hold me, take my voice,

pierce me, hurt me, feel me thrill

all at your touch. This is my choice.

For you I’ll beg, for you I’ll plead,

your adoration my deepest need.

Love is a four letter word

And so is rant. Draw your own conclusions.

~0~

If you came to me, as an oracle
seeking answers about the truth that is love,
I could not give you them.

For though I love, passionately and unreservedly with
my whole being and soul, I cannot
answer as to why, or how, or any
of another thousand million questions.

I love my love in roses, through overcast days when
those little storms shake the boundaries, hide the sun
and thorns scratch us both.

I love my love with abandon, even during those times
when I would cheerfully hit him over the head
with a very large shovel, or yell or scream, or
hop plates against the wall, or pack and simply
walk away.

I love my love up to the armpits in dirty dishes, during the
old and tired rituals of after-work, the worn and rusty conversations
of day in, day out, day in again.

I love my love in the quiet times, when Hollywood weaves
its magic to tell me that no, it is not love unless
there is loss, there is pain, there is passion that serves
to destroy nations and end lives.

Sometimes I believe them.

I have frittered away centuries, searching for that
bright and flaming spark that at the beginning we
cupped in our joined hands.
I have been desperately afraid that its loss would
signal the end of all that lay between.

Only to find, banked in the comfort glow of our fireplace,
embers that glow brighter than any spark, when we wake them,
give birth to flames that light our nights, our way
to each other's arms.

I love my love, even though I know that it's not
perfect, that neither he nor I can ever promise
not to hurt each other, be irritated, annoyed, upset, infuriated,
or any one of another million and three emotions.

For though he knows my flaws, my faults, my weaknesses and insecurities,
my foibles, my follies, my petty little habits, my fears,
he also knows the beauty in me that I dare not acknowledge, and he
loves me for it all.

I love my love, and am aware of my luck, but also
the paths I walked down to wake to my truths.
I cannot say the journey was easy.

So do not come to me, as an oracle
seeking answers about the truth that is love,
they are not mine to give.

But come to me as a sanctuary,
for I offer you silence,
to listen and comfort and ease.

28/8/2002

Sonnet: "I am not far, as some would count the miles"

I am not far, as some would count the miles.
Mere hours separate me from my home.
This unfamiliar city, little trials,
has nights both long and cold. I am alone.
The streets are made of light as I ghost through them
from conference to hotel. I choose to hide.
The living walk and talk. I could speak to them.
I am not here, so I cannot decide.
My thoughts are fixed on those I hope are waiting,
wondering how their moments pass, their day.
Are they now, like me, anticipating?
Counting every minute? I ache to say:
"I'll be back soon." I'm empty when I'm gone.
I long for home - for now I just hold on.

Sonnet: "There is a truth the heart already knows"

for F. and C.

There is a truth the heart already knows:
At times, one heart in different body meets,
cries out in joy as it the other greets.
And as the dating dance, so formal, goes,
these hearts care not for proper, outward shows.
Free from doubt, though cautious head entreats,
two hearts apart are forming common beats.
Rejoicing in the love inside, that grows.

There is no time, when two hearts beat as one.
A second is a year, a year a day.
No choices to be made, decisions done,
for what is left, when each to each may say:
"You are my light, my life, my soul, my sun.
I am your heart. With you I'll stay"