One Hundred and Fifty-Five Sonnets - 63. when

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Sonnet No. 125

I will lay me down one sheet at a time,

For you are master-poet of my heart,

When the humble form of me as your rhyme

Twains a start with an end that will not part.

Only your true words of love are music

To a soul in fear that such things can fade,

For like a beast, I crave the most basic

Strains of but the sweetest joy to be played.

But, alas – now I know I ask too much;

Set me up for a fall I will regret;

Yet hope, damn him, will always seek a touch

To beat back annihilation's hungry threat.

So I circle back to nowhere again –

And perhaps did nothing but drain my pen.

Sonnet No. 126

I want to overrun your defenses,

Rush at your walls till they come tumbling down,

Till my trumpet blast, soft as a murmur says,

You can't resist the greatness of my renown.

In many ways, my boy is now a man,

For pride rises to consider your strength

Like a fatherly boast that it was my plan

To bring you thus far, so you'd go the whole length.

As I storm and win your love and self-control,

You cede to me everything that matters –

Your mind, your heart, and your body and soul,

And there I leave your false fronts in tatters,

Not a victory for me alone,

But for you, it proves how you have grown.

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