Sonnet #1 (Rubbishy sentimentality, really)

No sound whispered in silent sense admiring,
This blesséd soul, and one most worth the trying,
Selfless, selfish, safe in your ball curled.

Light-hearted banter clouds my true delight.
Beautiful boy! with wings outstretched to flight,
To soar above such hateful plagues, the world.

You are the bird whose plume is marveled oft
By reborn cynic, what might one day take off:

Not another lost, one above the rest, pure and refined.
But who is that, O bird, who watches still?
Does dark intent he hide behind eyes kind?
How sad, obsession, how did that come so ill?

Forget his love, 'tis not your cross to bear.
Pigeon fly: you won't soar high, but you don't care.