Saturday, August 18, 2012
Thursday, August 16, 2012
Ego Clama Meipsum Somnus
Sonnet 148, Shakespeare
O me! What
eyes hath love put in my head,
Which have
no correspondence with true sight!
Or, if they
have, where is my judgment fled,
That
censures falsely what they see aright?
If that be
fair whereon my false eyes dote,
What means
the world to say it is not so?
If it be
not, then love doth well denote
Love’s eye
is not so true as all men’s: No,
How can it?
O how can love’s eye be true,
That is so
vexed with watching and with tears?
No marvel
then, though I mistake my view;
The sun
itself sees not till heaven clears.
O cunning
love! With tears thou keep’st me blind,
Lest eyes
well seeing thy foul faults should find.
-----
The Unfamiliar Prey
The searing coarseness of the words spoken,
Piercing the inside of that shallow cave,
What bounds from the walls quiver in pain.
What lays beneath howls in abhorrence.
The visitor it has welcomed least of known,
There was what only greetings torn,
For it heeds of only shelter,
Away from the squall it brought along.
The creature inside beg none to give but the
cave it lives,
A place for the stranger to dry & be safe.
The voice a chill it makes,
At the tone it despised since then long ago
he’d heard.
-----
The Trampled
So what bears the pity!?
The unimaginative & shallow!?
To lay waste on tilted soil,
That such sowed words play & told.
The wind groans as it breathes,
The waves a tide gulped deeper,
Thus the wound it hides upon the hollow cage,
The earth a grumble, it quivers without say.
Bent, the reeds lay withered,
Flowers of sort flattened on foot.
Once this uproar long ago did pass,
Of plead-full bliss, unwanted.
Shallow the gust slowly breathed in,
The soil trembles as answer,
The hollow wound tightens it hold,
The rain starts to pour, slowly & sore.
-----
Then was the prayer that he’d close his eyes,
Not the truth but his abhorred disdained
sight,
That he sees tomorrow’s light,
With tear stains of the night.
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