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Misfortune’s Fate

Alright world, here I am, now you may,
with my permission, surely do your worst,
for I have certainly just done the same,
with the enacting of a commitment
I could never do before. I had believed
I made myself, soul and all,
over the longevity of life, decisions
and consequences folding the existence
of my time here into a piece of worthiness.
However, since the moment
the sun rose behind the image of your face,
it was always the touch of beauty
in the movement of your life
that made me who I am,
and though you shall remain unforgotten,
that is the least you should be rewarded,
until the end of my tether, it is now that I must
move aside. Rather than admitting
the three words I could never say,
but felt, like blood beneath my veins,
allow me to instead replace this confession
with one that shall set you free;
I forget you;
and now, with this proclaimed testimony,
you may venture forth to love again
someone who will give all that you deserve,
for as misfortune has decided,
this fate, is not mine to enjoy.

The Moment Reality Returns

I was blessed by the arrow of my compass,
pointing towards a heart due north,
a serenade of a love’s true blossum
kissing me with a touch similar to that of lilacs
shedding their petals onto flesh.
To hold this secluded affair to the rhythm
of my aorta, was to let feelings
become a part of life, but now that dream
is gone from me, tarnished
by great banishment at the hands of fallen hope,
lost to a passionless time.
The apple-seed has withered, and with it,
I cannot settle in the deserted graveyard
awaiting me the moment I return to reality’s fold.

A Better Life?

I became concluded
a second later than I should have,
and the desire that scolded
my physical self became disillusioned
in a time not long before it needed dismantling.
I always asked the wrong question,
and in doing so, I received no answer
capable of stemming the pain
that leaked from within my heart.
Perhaps to relieve myself
of my own sense of hopelessness,
I tried to imagine a non-existent future
far brighter than the one
my life already occupied,
and in doing so, I forgot the disheartening truth;
some people are destined only for loneliness.
This did not bring me any closer
to a happy conclusion,
but it certainly enabled my eyes to open
each day onto the truth of a new morn,
without being suckered into the belief
that someone of great value
awaited me the moment this shallow verse
ceased to be written, the proceeding quest
being not for love, an emotion barred to me,
but to find a ladder to a better life
worthy of clinging onto.

Forever Dusk

The sun set on my heart
for the first time this summer,
the colder season immediately approaching
without warning or intent;
an occurrence I never did see coming
until I was drowning
in a storm of ice and frost,
the fires going out
before time could officially be counted.

Battling for a Truest Love

Every minute left undedicated
to the search for your heart,
renders littler chance of settling
beside you. I will not be resolved
of my guilt ridden pain and jealousy
should I fail in this accomplishment,
lusting to take you close and whisper
pleasing affections into your soul.
How I have longed, perhaps even for eternity,
to caress the desires of your passion
with my own, and to rid your bright eyed
vision of any other paramour
who would dare harass my chances
of becoming yours. Despite any greater
distances that may lie ahead,
I stand determined before the trespass
of time, to battle willingly the sparring
opposition. On the eve of this fortunate
recovery, would you look to me
with kindness, and a heart of virtuous
faith in my unlimited romance,
or will you shake with an ominous rhythm,
and instead acknowledge the love
of a certain nameless soul,
nearer to yourself?

A reading of this poem can be found at the following link: Thanks for visiting!

To the Gal that Writes me Well

When waiting for love, like a bitter disorder,
the haunting loneliness cascades
across the temperate peaks of one’s imagination,
delivering a crushing blow
to all that was wishful affection.
Internally, in my dreams, I hear her whisper words
of much intensity, which drift, like sandpaper,
across the bruised perimeter of my heart,
and upon awakening, my arms
around an always invisible desire,
her name rolling across my tongue;
a name she never hears.
We write and we talk, and frequently
I am forced to pretend that what I feel is non-existent,
and by the time she and I have the courage
to be prescribed that adoring conversation,
the wait which filled the abyss between us
became too steep, and she has found
another, better heart, whereas I am left behind.

A reading of the poem can be found at the following link:

The Avarice of Unhappiness

Maybe we ought to smash all mirrors
if our fractured reflections
fail to expose the truth.
The supernatural rip cord
attached to this submersible called life
should return us to the plane
where eyes accurately see us most.
But happiness is sadly not the conclusion
promised to us all, with many destined
to relive a certain failure for infinity,
that is always dressed in different clothes.

The Nostalgia of Feeling Love Again

There was a time
I would soak tear drops
in a napkin,
but now, the nostalgia
has become so morose,
even tears
are unable to ascertain
the complexity of my agony,
and the grieving turmoil
is thus, unable
to be conveyed
on a physical scope.
My heartbeat,
a depleted vial of energy
does not know happiness,
and escape from this delirium
is tantamount
to feeling love again.

Against the Tide of Love

I would wipe away my tears
with a quivering hand
upon the end of romance
if I did happen to enjoy it,
but, truthfully, I do not like
being in love. To experience
an emotion is to lose
complete control, feelings
encasing a heart in ideas
never once approved of
by the once dominating mind,
now rendered moot
by an all-consuming affair.
Choice is not an option
when it comes to choosing
who we wish to hold against
our heart, and unless every
part of my corporeal self
and soul had a hand
in this decision, never
is it one that I honestly
wish to have bestowed on me.

The Plight of Mortal Beings

My want to love you, rendered fiction
forevermore in but a moment,
your words of hollow romance
suffocating the essence of my heart
into a shade of puce. I cannot
ever rectify nor cease the pain
committed unto me by your morose
decision, to slice apart my romantic
pledge with the sudden impact
of your words. Some choices cannot
be taken back, my decision
to open my vulnerable heart
proving to be an adverse action,
exposing that which could
be taken advantage of. Any grace
is fractured and loneliness succumbs
my body in its twisted decadence,
no trace of eternal love remaining
within my severed consciousness.
This plight cannot be justified
by these writings as I attempt
an explanation, and in doing so,
I become conflicted by the truth,
drowned in great misfortune,
that happiness is only meant
for fairy-tales, rather than
the plight of mortal beings.