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    AC Benus
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Poetry posted in this category are works of fiction. Names, places, characters, events, and incidents are created by the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons (living or dead), organizations, companies, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you. 

One Hundred and Fifty-Five Sonnets - 13. Non più, tutto ascoltai…

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Sonnet No. 25

 

Your silence speaks louder than any word.

The white screen before me, is blanker than death.

So in wiped quiet I can be deterred,

And feel lifelessness has taken my breath.

Yet, there's nothing I can do about it,

For tears mean nothing to a wall's coldness,

And that's all I see here – from where I sit –

Despite determination and boldness.

Fear is in the stillness as well as in the scream,

The cry can let you know, when quiet takes all.

But tell me all is not as it may seem,

And that this man is not in for a fall.

Your tears, your anger, your pain I can take,

Just don't tell me it's my heart you might break.

 

 

Sonnet No. 26

 

My days are oddly slow and empty if

I have no prospect of talking with you;

Without it I pray and worship your gift,

And if it's gone, I don’t know what I'll do.

You often say that I have everything –

That you have nothing in this world but me –

And that sorrow bites at me like a sting

To comfort the smart and thereby set you free.

But my days, my hours, my nights are not

The sole property of me anymore –

I bid you use them and know that you've got

Enough to keep you from being poor.

With your love, I have everything I need;

Without it, God help how this heart will bleed.

 

 

_

Copyright © 2018 AC Benus; All Rights Reserved.
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Poetry posted in this category are works of fiction. Names, places, characters, events, and incidents are created by the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons (living or dead), organizations, companies, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you. 
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AC, these are sad, heart wrenching. How horrible to be left like that. They make me want to hold, to protect the author from more pain.

 

So sad yet so beautifully written.

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These seem to be two different sides of a hopeless torment.
But there is something about the two poignantly written sonnets which leads me to believe they do not speak of the same infatuation.

 

In any event, they are deeply saddening.

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Voglio molto di piú. You paint the consequences of speechlessness from two perspectives. The pain is palpable, as is the powerlessness.

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No. 25 - "Your silence speaks louder than any word" is the saddest, hardest line for anyone who puts heart and soul into words and waits for reaction. At least that tore into me the moment I started reading. The blank wall of nothing that is sometimes the lot of an author can be worse than any pan or rant. "Tears mean nothing to a wall's coldness" squeezed at my heart; I know that feeling, and the fear of it is worse than the fear of offending. It is indeed heartbreaking to be ignored, and the final couplet speaks to that pain. This sonnet makes me wonder how I may have hurt my brothers and sisters, too. For whose sorrow am I responsible?

 

 

 

No. 26 – How strangely empty and slow time is when the person you want to engage simply isn’t there. The line that got to me most was this: "But my days, my hours, my nights are not the sole property of me anymore –" This speaks directly to my experience when you want to share yourself with someone else. It's nearly a compulsion, a need. The final couplet is absolutely right.

 

Thanks for both of these. They tell of the fear and yearning of the heart; could Strauss or Berlioz have written a tone poem more clearly? I doubt it.

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On 05/12/2016 12:36 PM, Mikiesboy said:

AC, these are sad, heart wrenching. How horrible to be left like that. They make me want to hold, to protect the author from more pain.

 

So sad yet so beautifully written.

Thank you, Tim. I did not realize these two would speak so plainly to folks, but I guess they have. In terms of this series, it is most a like a sunny day, but there are patches of clouds and storm; these two are one of those areas. But the turmoil blew over rather quickly.

 

That being said, I should warn readers when the next storm is on the horizon (beginning with Sonnet No. 69). That patch is stormiest of all, but it too blew itself out.

 

Thanks for your support and great comments.

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On 05/12/2016 01:57 PM, skinnydragon said:

These seem to be two different sides of a hopeless torment.

But there is something about the two poignantly written sonnets which leads me to believe they do not speak of the same infatuation.

 

In any event, they are deeply saddening.

Thank you for your review, skinnydragon. To address one of your points (assuming I interpret it correctly), I can paraphrase Billy Shakespeare's dedication of his Sonnets to the man he loved, and assure you Tony was "the only begetter of these ensuing Sonnets."

 

Thanks again for your support. I appreciate it deeply.

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On 05/12/2016 03:26 PM, aditus said:

Voglio molto di piú. You paint the consequences of speechlessness from two perspectives. The pain is palpable, as is the powerlessness.

Thank you, Adi. I love and appreciate your comments. The film reference is a new one to me, so I'm looking forward to watching it. : )

 

On a side note, the Italian name I chose this chapter is giving google translate a fit trying to render it in English. It means "No more, I've heard it all..."

 

Thanks again!

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On 05/13/2016 12:09 AM, Parker Owens said:

No. 25 - "Your silence speaks louder than any word" is the saddest, hardest line for anyone who puts heart and soul into words and waits for reaction. At least that tore into me the moment I started reading. The blank wall of nothing that is sometimes the lot of an author can be worse than any pan or rant. "Tears mean nothing to a wall's coldness" squeezed at my heart; I know that feeling, and the fear of it is worse than the fear of offending. It is indeed heartbreaking to be ignored, and the final couplet speaks to that pain. This sonnet makes me wonder how I may have hurt my brothers and sisters, too. For whose sorrow am I responsible?

 

 

 

No. 26 – How strangely empty and slow time is when the person you want to engage simply isn’t there. The line that got to me most was this: "But my days, my hours, my nights are not the sole property of me anymore –" This speaks directly to my experience when you want to share yourself with someone else. It's nearly a compulsion, a need. The final couplet is absolutely right.

 

Thanks for both of these. They tell of the fear and yearning of the heart; could Strauss or Berlioz have written a tone poem more clearly? I doubt it.

Thank you, Parker. It's a great review, and I don’t really know where to start. Maybe I'll start at the end and say your comparison to music is touching to me. I hadn't thought of these poems in this way, but you make me wish to see them set to music now.

 

My collective comments (on your thoughts) about Nos. 25 and 26 would be on how 'different' it is for us in this virtual world. When you and I were young men, none of these modes of relating to one another existed, and it's rapidly changed, hasn't it?

 

Thanks again for your support. I appreciate it a great deal.

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