~A Crown of Sonnets
He gazes at the mirror’s time-worn face
reflecting on the pain and silent tears
all cried in corner’s dark and lonely place,
then soaked into his dreams down through the years.
Yet life was bled long after sweat was gone
by pushing through the scars just as before
and, racing time, he plodded ever on
in search of passion’s touch and hidden door.
Within the thoughts of love and Muse’s dreams
that served to fuel his heart from day to day,
he acted well while hiding muffled screams
with painful hours now safely stowed away.
So how much faster, longer can he run?
... and does he know the race cannot be won?
O does he know the race cannot be won?
and there, on every course, a final bend –
the uphill fight will finally be done;
the world will know the race is at its end.
As he reflects on passages through time,
in mountains, valleys and the desert hours,
regrets are minimized through thoughts sublime
but love is nourishment that fate devours.
So how has he kept faith to win the race?
Contentment with his plight both day and night
through loneliness and fear he’s kept his pace,
all keys to balance life toward the right.
To not succumb to chaos in his life --
this quest would stabilize his constant strife.
This quest would stabilize his constant strife
and challenge him to tease reality,
with risks the same as toying with a knife,
he also learned to court uncertainty.
So strong but not invincible his stride,
into the arms of love he tripped and fell
and there he found the Muse his past denied,
yet in the race he ran were none to tell.
In hearing words from her, his heart would soar –
so soft her touch and thoughts... how could it be?
He never felt he had the wings before
which now could carry dreams across the sea.
His emptiness was filled, he must endure,
in order that he earn a heart so pure.
In order that he earn a heart so pure,
his power over demons he’d display,
to show the frightened world when he was sure
that every dragon’s offspring he could slay.
In dreams he walked on her Pacific shore,
with thoughts that would this race of life defy,
but of himself to give there was no more,
and hope to she who waits is no reply.
Unheeded went the warnings to withdraw
from enemies he challenged in the race,
the dangers that his watchful Muse foresaw
enabled broken strides to keep the pace.
In storms will passion help the winds abate
while images of love win over fate?
While images of love win over fate
as life's torment seems to continue on,
then even rainbow’s bridges must await
the beauty of an everlasting dawn.
So how can reason trump a magic dream
and can reality a myth destroy?
If so, in Evil’s eye would be a gleam –
destruction of the dream – a devil’s ploy.
Does that mean certain death for fantasy
and death of wishes on a falling star?
Are we to think no more that there can be
a harmony between things as they are?
He runs the race of life for truth herewith,
to show the world reality of myth.
To show the world reality of myth,
he must expose the truth within the lie –
that intellect alone has means therewith
to steal his heart to win, or cease to try.
From hence we sense the strength of time and love
combined with hope and dreamworld’s fantasies,
and aided by his Muse’s gentle shove
the runner speeds responding to her pleas.
Aesthetics are what drives the poet’s pen;
the Muse asserts herself to lead his heart,
while tussling with truth time and again,
his hope shines light on shadows from the start.
The rhythms of his life will ebb and flow
but if he wins the race no one will know.
But if he wins the race no one will know
for winning life is not something to do,
and not intent on basking in the glow,
the race inside himself he’ll show to you.
The path that we see run is a prelude,
and truthful life, complete, he must convey;
the journey -- not the finish -- we conclude:
its how the race was run that’s on display.
So was he ever true to Muse’s call,
and did the scars of life explain his pain?
Were dreams and fantasy honored at all
where myths of love and life were found again?
He ponders over years lost to the race
...and gazes at the mirror’s time-worn face.