Blackpower 's Sonnets (ep)

Sonnet 29

Let others feast on beauty's fragile crust,

The outward form, the fleshly, soft design,

That withers swift to unforgiving dust,

And holds no portion of the sacred mine.

They praise the eye, the lip, the slender hand,

A painted vessel, filled with earthly wine,

And seek to claim a place in love's demand,

Ignoring that which makes the spirit fine.

But I perceive the source from which it springs,

The inward light that no dark time can dim,

The melody that my own spirit sings,

Upon a constant and eternal hymn.

And for that truth, I give all outward show,

To know the garden where true blessings grow.

Here are three more sonnets in the requested heavy-diction style, maintaining the Shakespearean form. They explore the corrupting influence of temporal power, the solemn wisdom found in nature's decay, and the solace of eternal truth amidst worldly falsity.

Sonnet 30

The monarch's sceptre, gorged with subjects' plea,

Doth lose its lustre in a tyrant's hand;

The hollow pomp of earthly majesty

Cannot withstand the truth at fate's command.

For on the brow where diadems are pressed,

The cankered spirit leaves its ugly trace;

No silken robes can hide the soul oppressed,

Nor perfumed words conceal a heart's disgrace.

The fulsome praise of cringing, sycophant,

A brittle shield against the common fray,

Will crumble fast, a fleeting, brittle cant,

When truth's strong sword shall find its proper way.

So let the world its fleeting power crave,

While humble truth doth conquer from the grave.

Sonnet 31

The sere and yellow leaf, in autumn shed,

A patient witness to the winter's close,

Doth bear a wisdom in its humble bed,

Which nature's transient, verdant bosom knows.

The faded glory of the dying year,

The silent rustling of the falling grain,

Doth speak a truth to every mortal ear,

That every bloom must suffer from the rain.

And though my spirit seeks a higher flight,

And longs to leave this worldly, mortal coil,

I find a solace in the dying light,

And learn the lessons from the weary soil.

For in this cycle, with its measured pace,

My spirit finds a calm and fitting place.

Sonnet 32

When falsehood, with its sly and serpent's tongue,

Doth poison hearts with venomous deceit,

And fragile faith is broken and unstrung,

And love's first promise turns to bitter cheat,

Then let me turn from every spoken word,

From every vow that seeks to bind and hold,

And seek the truth that can not be con