You do not know how much you hurt me,
not with knives or words
But with trenchant medieval tool
you caused my heart to burn.
For after you had heard my call
then you said nothing… nothing at all.
As moonlight casts its glow around
and shadows dance upon the ground
I walk upon this forlorn trail
of ancient and abandoned fairs
remnants of a wonder lost
when children’s eyes at last are washed
and cleansed from youthful ignorance
as time steals away innocence.
While joy which once so prominent
has fled apace to their lament
and tear-stained cheeks mellow the glow
of love once preciously unknown.
The carousel now creaks and sighs
upon its rusted hinge of life
remembering the former days
when children came and laughed and played.
Dejected from this mournful sight
I seek to turn away my eyes
But glancing in the mirror I
see what was not realized.
This fair once so ebullient
is nothing more than my lament
over the life I’d left behind
when ’twas life’s meaning I denied.
So out again upon the trail
I walk from that so doleful fair
whose mere exuberance at life
now’s withered from its mournful plight.
The clouds have seemed to block the moon
and shadows hold a deeper gloom
the wind has started creeping in
in forms of dark and desperate men,
while shivering I onward press
in search of that lost happiness.
These walls all around me
Are the walls that I built
Demons that surround me
Are phantoms of guilt
This life that I hide from
Is my life on full tilt
Rushing to daggers
Plunging up to the hilt
This desert a wasteland
No honey nor milk
This wasteland’s my thoughts
all from the same ilk
For none of my walls
(These walls that I’ve built)
Will crumble or fall
-For phantoms of guilt
Simply change their colors
Their form never wilts
And as I grow older
I’m buried in guilt.
I suppose if ever comes the day
again when we meet face to face
I do not know what I would say
to make it worth your time to stay
Supposing I had strength to play
some song of love to break the chains
of loneliness which still remain
Perhaps then I, your heart, could sway.
But still again supposing I
could spread out wings and upward fly
what good would be those wings of mine
if I forget the heart inside?
Perhaps I won’t recall today-
this thought, this rhyme, this foolish flame.
Perhaps tomorrow I will say
“Goodbye my love- I go away.”
Beneath a bough of towering pines
away from burning city lights
where what is here grows out of sight
a gentle stream trickles on by.
And sitting on its sandy shore
l find myself as ne’er before
watching nature so adorned
it shows no hint of sorrows borne.
“Cursed,” said I, “Is all I am.
For in truth I who am a man
cannot exist on this fair land
without showing on both my hands
The stains of all my weariness
which if I could at my behest
I’d send away to be at rest,
yet they remain upon my flesh.”
Then picking up some jagged stone
I tossed it out as if to show
that if I chose by strength alone
I could rise and stay the flow.
But nature bending once again
deferred unto a cursed man.
The stone fell to a watery bin
which simply trickled on again.
Close your eyes
and shed a tear
faith has fallen
out of reach.
How have I
ended up here?
in the breach.
There are times on my blog that I take the liberty of posting what would appear nonsense to some… This is probably one of those times. The following poem was an exercise in ‘wordsmithing” (which exists only controversially as a word,) as I set about to record (as the title states) a “Calculated Fascination” of a certain… something. As I mentioned in my last post sometimes I leave the meaning behind my work a mystery to the reader. So consider this to be intentionally something of a riddle. There IS a logical “object of my fascination” but unless one my readers can suggest it I will not give away the “subject of my declaration”.
With that said if you can follow my highly superfluous verbosity- Please enjoy my poem.
~ Calculated Fascination ~
Thus begins my calculation
Of a certain fascination
And though the interpretation
Of my verbose declaration
May be flawed it’s all that I can do.
The source of my fascination
(Subject of my declaration)
Demands of me to be patient
Almost begging hesitation
For this poem is directed upon you.
Reticence my explanation
Requires no exposition
For this source of fascination
Resides in a higher station
Then I ever hope to be attuned.
Ah! This weary calculation
Spouts nonsensical creations
Of my mind whose permutations
Exposes very foundations
Of these thoughts and dreams you never knew.
These lines beg not participation
(Complex rhymes of declaration)
Seen constant as an apparition
In my mind- a haunting fashion
Daily like a flower always blooms.
Regardless of my fascination
Ironic is my calculation
For in truth our separation
Lives for lack of inspiration
On the part of me who had to choose.
And now those minds studied attention,
(you reading with acute perception)
Hold understandable perplexion
By reason of my declaration
Desist from fearful apprehensions
For she, herself, knows not if it is true.