Sonnets Chromatic


Oblivion, the outer dark becomes
An inner nothing, silence: not a word
Remains to mark what was. The final sum
For all is Death; each addend seems absurd.
Like matter and anti-matter when combined,
Annihilate to a shed a dying burst
Of energy, all lives are thus consigned
To be no more, cast off the rage and thirst
Of being, and they feel never more
The pull upon their restless, throbbing spheres.
That place beyond the teeming, fertile shore
Is stranger to all strivings, thoughts, and fears.
Our words, our "ZERO"'s, these can only slight
The nothing of Death's vast, eternal night.


Rage! A scream, and blood in scarlet streams
Of fire tearing from a ravaged heart.
The shock of crimson lightning in my dreams:
I'm killing, and I'm killing with an art
Of force and cunning, predatory beast,
Death but an afterthought, no consequence.
Just rage and power burning in a breast
Ignited with a savage eloquence
Of incoherent hatred, like the broth
Of lava bleeding from a smoking mount,
Or bursting in a searing, cackling froth,
Satanic essence from Hell's hissing fount.
Insensible as flames, Hate's scorching breath
Metes on the wicked and the just hot death.


The rolling meadow in the sun. I catch
The sweet and pungent scent of late spring grass.
Each tree about its edge has hues to match.
A city of life: within each branch a mass
Dwells in a quiet, verdant harmony.
Most leaves are bright and supple, some are ill,
Some chewed by larvae, but the whole we see
Is striking in its green-ness, though it will,
Come late September, turn to brown or gold.
The leaves will fall as we, love, as we must,
But that is yet a distant time. Behold!
We are yet young, and spring abides in us!
Upon this grassy couch, may I and thee,
The one and one make two, the two make three.


It's you I see reflected in the waters,
O sky! I breathe your rich benificence—
Your peace, the life of all the sons and daughters
Of this, our Earth—and thank your providence.
Save wisps of cirrus down, and save the sun,
Your face is clear, an azure meditation.
I fill my thoughts, my lungs with you and gone
Is every doubt, all care and consternation.
We resonate as one, man/sky, at ease,
Serene, the godlike overlooking all,
Emotionless, in bright infinities
We bask, and think not on impending squall.
The heat of the blood is cooled, and black despair,
Like heavy fog, dissolves in fresh, pure air.


Cold, I shiver in this scene of snow.
I cannot see; the light is much too bright.
"Have I died? Where is my spirit now?"
I ask, but there is no-one, nothing in sight.
The winds are icy demons, howl and moan,
Bombard me with their frigid dust. I reel,
Frostbitten, hungry, through this place alone,
Sobbing in my thoughts for home. I feel
Betrayed by Heaven, for it is a place
So cold, so desolate, I deem it Hell.
I raise my head and fists towards the face
Of whom it is has sentenced me to dwell
Here in this lonely winter paradise.
The winds, in answer, turn my flesh to ice.

George Chadderdon © 2000