Falling Out of Love...?

Cheeky Missy


# I

I used to think thee charming, as the chance
For snuggling coz'ly in th'unnat'ral glow
Of golden light, as candles ever show;
Though my romantic scenes were 'lectric's prance
In poorly lit yet tender dimmness' trance,
Where fanciful reflections lit thoughts' flow
By novels' aid, where dreams anon bestow
Vain lustre on imagined things' expanse.
Until I fell in love with out-of-doors
I called thee sweet. Since then I've called thee drear,
Bemoan the loss of open windows' source
Of precious cheer, from whence within I'd hear
Such melodies and whisp'ring tease thy force
Withholds, life buried in thy grim austere.

# II

Life's buried in thy grim austere 'til Spring
Renew its lease. Thy sunny days where snow
In dazzling white arrays and brilliant show
Clothes merest silhouettes of trees do bring
Delight in delicate displays, Death's sting
Thereby half-mollified, yet ne'er bestow
Th'abundant coloured cheer, the tender flow
Of breathing life that sans thee e'er dost sing.
I loved thee for the charm of dreams I chased
In thy embrace, dead things. Since living wooed
Me, more enchanting, thou'rt become disgraced.
Thy scene's nigh black and white's grey solitude,
Opposed to greens with golden glow, erased
When thou dost reign, where moodiness doth brood.


When thou dost reign now moodiness must brood.
I call thee old, and dread thy sure return,
Aye sigh at thought of thee, as chained to learn
That nothing lasts and vanity deludes.
My joys and cheer fade, e'en my gratitude
For sunny days lies in the sights that earn
Their praise in being like Spring, for whom I yearn.
The indoors' charms seem mournful quietudes.
I've fallen out of love with thee, I guess.
Or is't with what? Am I as yet decieved?
Do I still love vain dreams? I do. Just less
The purely fanciful? Whose loves bereaved,
Whose romances of what? Do I digress?
In searching all this out, what is achieved?


  • Author: Chic George (Pseudonym) (Offline Offline)
  • Published: January 6th, 2012 23:16
  • Comment from author about the poem: Trios are born when you insist that you desire such a thing, or more commonly, when the thought pleads that it cannot be conveyed satisfactorily with two sonnets. I am a bit frustrated and contemplating tweaking the first sonnet to stand alone. Meantime, here it is as a linked trio. Whatcha think?
  • Category: Reflection
  • Views: 48
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