I pray thee, lovely soul of thine, though love (Sonnet)

I pray thee, lovely soul of thine, though love

Nor mere regards of fondness oft’ at hand.

Oh, doth save this from such abyss above

Of vacillation, but his time be grand.

‘Tis trudging, marching, boundless woe of thine

Erotic mortal. Prance in shadows here,

Whilst fancy thy unalloyed splendor, mine.

Wast thou this shaft of half hearts, furtive dear?

Although thou art oblivion, heed this laud.

Such nightfall, bleeding blazes blindly, oh

Such rue, no rue at all, nor feats of fraud

As my love, if to thee, then ‘tis be so.

My soul revolves the lines for thou to say,

“Cascade my shaft of madness, if thou may.”

g.m.

I wrote this poem as a requirement in my Creative Writing class during fourth year high school. However, I wrote it not just as a mere assignment, but more of an expression of the things I can't say openly. Since it this was my first sonnet, it took me roughly seven hours to complete it (Making sure that my iambs and stresses were accurate was kind of tedious).

Anyway, here is the sonnet explained in my perspective:

Despite the high probability that the person he loves does not love him back or even notice his care for her, he still pleads for her love in return. Love, here, is defined as an endless paradise of uncertainty. Although living in this pit will mean insanity or even death, the hours spent in this agony is treasured.

The lover, who calls himself as a seemingly passionate mortal, limps endlessly in this pit. He lives in darkness (heartbreak) as he dreams of the woman being his. At some point, he dreads that this woman’s "half-heartedness" is the cause of his severe suffering, even though she’s actually supposed to be some sort of inspiration.

Even though the woman may seem completely ignorant of his love, he never gives up. In fact, he absurdly endures these heartbreaks blissfully. No nightfall is of darkness, but is of blinding lights. Not even acts of regret or deceit can prove his feelings wrong, because if such love is for this certain woman, every bit of travail is worth it.

In the end, the lover continues watching time pass by for the woman to ask him “to descend in her own shaft of insanity” (to confess her own love for him). In a nutshell, this sonnet basically states love as a difficult struggle worth enduring, regardless of how ridiculously long it may take, given that it is true enough to be fought for.