Sublime

An older poem. A little love lost stuff.

 

What is this,

that dances in my mind,

that keeps me up all night,

dreaming not sublime..

 

Why do these lights haunt me,

why do they shine,

they keep me still at night,

dreaming not sublime..

 

When will this end,

these divine lines of mine,

they wake me all my life,

thoughts of our sublime.

Author's Note

Any immediate thoughts?

Reviews

[Emily Rose]

We spent a lot of time History of Literary Theory on the Sublime and what it is and what it means. This poem seems to grasp for it, searching for the "divine lines." I'm not quite sure why you're asking "when will it end," however, because it seems to imply that you WANT the sublime to end, and that doesn't make much sense to me. Unless it's going the other way and you're worrying about when "these divine lines of mine" will end, in which case that would make a little more sense. Or perhaps I'm completely missing the point. That's a possibility too. In any case, well done. It makes me think and it puzzles me. It's going to require a few more read-throughs before I can come to any sort of viable conclusion.