T’is not the beginning of a love poem.
Expect no admittance of romance, but of
tragedy; no romantic whose words bleed through
every pore and whose feelings intoxicate
the very world around them; instead, there will
be just blood and words that shan’t ever rhyme thrown
together like objects that ought never to
Only those of us who are
alive live in the here and now. What is the
point in living, when those one wishes to spend
eternity with are never by their side,
cursed to forever be apart by a zeal-
ous society that knows not the fortunes
of love and longing, but of a corruption
that stems forth from the unattainable.
of us hide who we truly are beneath the
shadows of fallen endeavours that never
came to pass. What I wouldn’t give to see the
future, to know what will be fallen and what
will rise above, to ensure my broken heart,
bereft with grief, is not injured any fur-
ther than what it hath already sustained.
cannot imagine surviving any more
pain than what has already crippled me so.
I miss the lovers I never had; the opp-
ortunities that were never taken; the
places where I have never been. There was man-
y a moment when I could have grasped the chance
to have what I do not, but never did my
heart grow the potency it needed to sac-
rifice it all for nothing more than a chance
that need not even be real.
In the darkness of
the real world, there’s nothing good to be had here,
for the seeds of fantasises that grow within
my mind are unable to blossom in this realm.
A fantasy is but a dream, and therefore
is not supposed to exist after all, but
there are no lengths I would not go to in my
vain attempt to live the life I want so des-
perately to be mine.
Why can I not step
out from a dream and into reality,
taking you, the woman I will love forev-
er and always, from one world into the next.
You already exist in this world, but you
know not of me. In my dreams you see me; you
feel me; you fall for me, my paramour, and
I for you, until the end of time.
world you are rich and prestigious; utterly
famous and never without your infinite
glamour. In my dream however, you are still
you, but without the ego, and instead of
looking through me, you look right at me, and I
am noticed for the first time by your eyes. It
is then that your heart beats, not for you, but for
me, and in that moment you are mine, just as
I am gladly yours, and never shall this ep-
ic fantasy conclude.
Posted on June 18, 2013, in Poetry and tagged dreams, fantasies, feelings, life, love, love poetry, paramour, partners, poem, poetry, real world, regret, romance, sleep, writing. Bookmark the permalink. 2 Comments.