How Love Raises Expectations

Though I’m not much of a poet, unfortunately, I attempted to write a sonnet to my girlfriend explaining the trouble of doing so. After a bit of searching, I found a few examples that gave me a direction, but I feel that somewhere along the way I got lost, or Bill Shakespeare is just really effing good. I’m going to go with the latter.

Writing this sonnet gives me some trouble,

For there are no words worthy of you, none.

If this house of cards falls, clear the rubble,

Or beneath these words I’m buried, undone.

No longer shall I stand stifling abuse,

From fervent figments of expectation.

I’ll look to you, my love, inspiring muse,

And hope these words require no translation.

I really feel as though I am in love,

Because of this love this sonnet must sing.

You make me a man you can be proud of,

So come be my queen, and I’ll be your king,

A thrown be the only place fit for you,

Come take a seat and make my dreams come true.

So although my sonnet is not as romantic as Sonnet XX or XXXVI, there are subtle things only my girlfriend will get, so it has a personal touch. Like the last line is a shout out to our song, Hall & Oates “You Make My Dreams.” Here’s the video:

Sonnet XX

A woman’s face with Nature’s own hand painted
Hast thou, the master-mistress of my passion;
A woman’s gentle heart, but not acquainted
With shifting change, as is false women’s fashion;
An eye more bright than theirs, less false in rolling,
Gilding the object whereupon it gazeth;
A man in hue, all ‘hues’ in his controlling,
Much steals men’s eyes and women’s souls amazeth.
And for a woman wert thou first created;
Till Nature, as she wrought thee, fell a-doting,
And by addition me of thee defeated,
By adding one thing to my purpose nothing.
But since she prick’d thee out for women’s pleasure,
Mine be thy love and thy love’s use their treasure.

Sonnet XXXVI

Let me confess that we two must be twain,
Although our undivided loves are one:
So shall those blots that do with me remain
Without thy help by me be borne alone.
In our two loves there is but one respect,
Though in our lives a separable spite,
Which though it alter not love’s sole effect,
Yet doth it steal sweet hours from love’s delight.
I may not evermore acknowledge thee,
Lest my bewailed guilt should do thee shame,
Nor thou with public kindness honour me,
Unless thou take that honour from thy name:
But do not so; I love thee in such sort
As, thou being mine, mine is thy good report.