I can’t
stop imagining
the
thousand ways
I could
meet your gaze.
Imagining.
Imaging.
With splendid and persistent wings
that illude me I can pull life’s strings.
Then, nature.
As gorgeous as the wings. But crueller.
Like a desert, or dark winter,
the impact of real things,
that is what simply might come to pass,
“nature’s changing course untrimm’d…”
Like breathing your gaze, a shattering silken strain.
A blue laser of beauty that I have to sustain.
that illude me I can pull life’s strings.
Then, nature.
As gorgeous as the wings. But crueller.
Like a desert, or dark winter,
the impact of real things,
that is what simply might come to pass,
“nature’s changing course untrimm’d…”
Like breathing your gaze, a shattering silken strain.
A blue laser of beauty that I have to sustain.
This is one of the two sonnets I have ever written. With a rhyme scheme a bit faulty, so it's "almost" a sonnet. But I put it in blog since I wrote to A Cuban in London I would do that. (Maybe this poem appeared in this blog in the past, I am not sure.)
Thanks to a comment of his to my previous post I have discovered his really remarkable blog: "Un Cubano en Londres".
1 comment:
One of the reasons why I love the English language and your beautiful sonnet is a validation of it is the myriad ways in which you come up with two words that convey an image and yet the two words are almost completely different. Imagine and image in your case. The placing of them at the end of the first stanza serves as a springboard to dive into the next one... and the next one.
I love your poetry. It has that natural and organic "inner" magic that I crave sometimes. So much literature is about what we project and how we project as opposed to what makes us project in the first place.
Greetings from London.
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