a certain indefinite number of Petrarchan sonnets: №125

Ordinarily I don’t publish so much poetry at Theoria-press, and instead try to provide mostly essays with an odd poem or sonnet occasionally interspersed among them. But the Muse’s visits have outstripped my ability to keep pace with prose pieces so readers who prefer essays should peruse the archives of this site, which are replete with them. This is more-or-less an actual Petrarchan sonnet so it will not be preceded by my usual exculpatory disclaimer about having departed from the paradigmatic form.

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WHATEVER place we stand, there make a start:
‘mid brazen soundscape strewn with stones of fear
and doubts, I meet her eye and she draws near
then subtler music does to me impart
the seal of Heaven through this form of art
whose tones are visited upon my ear
a melody that I alone can hear
that maketh straight the pathway to my heart
I cannot wish to change this sacred psalter
except by violating my own soul
so profaning sacramental altar
o’er what I love, why would I seek control?
beauty is what we can’t seek to alter
and love of beauty finally makes us whole

Photo by Nathan Dumlao on Unsplash