Wow

Wow.

I didn't even feel it hit me.
I was numb before I realized.
He's there,
More than I expect, I'm sure he's there.
He's probably the nicest, sweetest, fun loving guy...
But he's competition...
He's winning, probably already won.

She grabbed him specifically out of the group,
Outside to the smoking area.
I didn't see it so it didn't happen.
I'm fairly sure I can handle that.
Can I handle that?
No because I know it happened.
Like it happened outside.
"It was a goodnight kiss"

I believe that like I believe 9/11 was terrorists,
That the war in Iraq was fair and just.
It’s probably not fair,
Comparing mass death, to a fragile heart,
That with every beat, is destroyed by news that it wasn't ready for.

She's excited.
I'm happy for her.

A cup of tea.
The boiling of sexual tension,
The stirring of emotions,
The embrace of lips,
The soft sweet grains of sugar,
That complete mixture of thoughts and ideas buzzing around their heads.

The pigmentation of their eyes,
Evident in the refraction of the afternoons dying light.

The events of what's to come,
Flicker like a zoetropic storyboard.
Heartbeats synchronies like watches on schedule.
The empty cups are the fragments of my fading heart.
The depth of conscious thought, in my soul.
The sheer cavern inside of me.
Inside my thoughts.
Hollowed out.

A fly on the wall,
In the documentary of their love.
Their two bodies gently touch 
Arms like restraints gently press against the clothing.
I buzz and I'm sure it annoys one of them.

“Oh arrogant fly,
You are as ignored as the work of a humble janitor or man that truly cares.
Don't feign an interest by either party in such a lowly creature as yourself.”

A spark like a zippo lighter.
Several more.
The fading sun of the day,
No longer such an issue to them now.
Two smiles.
Candles long held in confident hands.
Placed like beacons before me now.
They blaze like white-hot embers,
I fear to gaze again.

The turning of two heads equidistant from one another,
At opposite angles.
Perfect.
Her soft lips about to engage the rough lips of the man before her.
It’s almost too perfect to handle.
I perch upon the window frame.
Their eyes lids close,
As lips softly kiss and kiss again.

I can stray from such thoughts,
And think of the eternity, loneliness brings upon a soul.
The old cliché that darkness falls in harmony,
With the descent of a smile,
That was so saved for her,
And her eyes alone.

“Can we really be so dominated by thoughts regarding another human being?”

Well evidently so,
As still the zoetropic images,
Pass my many eyes once more.
I see it all.
Everything surrounding us.
Time flows from every possible vessel,
Vein, artery and orifice.
Time does not advance beyond this moment, current moment.

For them it is so perfect and yet I remain so empty,
So devoid of a mortal emotion that could remove me,
Remove my gaze from this sight.
Were it not that Oedipus's tale would sow such a thought,
A seed in my minds soil,
Make me stab my own eyes out before acknowledging this.

Oh how bitter must the daylight seem,
To one so twisted and stuck upon ideals as I.
I don't just hold a candle.
I bring spares and endless source of fire to ignite the candle once more,
For that time,
When such time passes,
That you might drift like an aimless cloud into the periphery of my minds eye.
For I am not just some passing soldier on a tour of your heart.
I am a rose that grew to fruition just for you.
The sweet nectar of my scent,
Designed to calm your mind and your mind only.
I care not for the idle wilting of flowers in the sun,
Nor shall weep when my brethren are taken from me in the winter,
For I shall survive because you are you and you survive.

What tale shall be written of my blossom?
That generations long after my slumber comes,
Shall know that such a passion,
Not love,
But such a passion to be within your heart, existed.

No moral fiber can be woven like the fine cloths that adorn the casing of your heart.

There is no chance,
That in this light that barely illuminates the blink of an ant standing upon a pin at the end of the world, that we shall be.
No acknowledgement that such tasks that Hercules himself,
Would shrug off as impossibilities,
Could from your brain, stem electrical impulses that design a smile just for me. The intricate workings of such a brain,
Surely have no use for the wounded soldier,
That died in the friendly fire of your scorn.
The sarcasm from your articulation,
Burns upon my flesh like the Vietcong
That perished so needlessly
In napalm of Satan's order.

“Oh arrogant fly.
Oh why? Oh why?
Should you believe such sentient beings could so feign an interest in your existence as to say he exists?
How now brown cow?
Shall I continue to function,
Such that I am no longer capable of sight,
For Oedipus's tale hath taken me to the brink
And I too, no longer see such a sight before my eyes.”

Photo.
Light.
Graph.
Writing.

The image recorded in my brain,
Emblazoned upon my retinas
Burnt into my eyes that bleed and blister and sludge from the sockets that once were such their humble home.
I cannot see.
Yet I still see her.
Still see him.
Still fall one more rung of life's ladder into insanity
As I pen these thoughts into my history.
His story.
No.
Mine.

There shall never be a boat,
That floats upon tranquil waters,
Rowed by my arms,
As the fine craftsmanship propels us
Across a dream like scene.
Swans, the aquatic angels that protect us,
So gentle.
Lilies that fragrance the fledgling algorithms of our existence.

Never shall there be a bridge,
And approaching from both sides,
Are me and you.

No seats booked on a plane.
Row a, seats one and two.

Not ever a possibility for me and you.

No lapping waters on a distant shore, at our feet.

Oh I implore you,
Notice how I strain my every motion to be a part of your wave.
Alas I rode the wave to the shore
There was no you, or I, or us,
Nor no reason to implore.

For written in those sands,
And into the sands of time,
Your soft lips upon his pressed
And in tandem depress myself, and world.

For were there no need to feel a loss.
No anger. No. I don't feel cross.

I'd stand beneath the stars and pine,
Were it that your heart were mine
But never shall this day come forth,
Even with the star of north,
That guides the soldier swiftly home
But even if that means alone,

I'd strive to find that single cure,
Unlocking the gateway true and sure,
I'd ask myself if this were true.
You don't love me,
But I love you.

You'll never cast a saintly glance
Across this tattered second chance.

Look at what I've become.
Poetic richness in a slum.

I tried to play much more a part.
In the beating of your heart.

To see if I could find a rhythm,
That somehow from your soul, had risen.

To beat that thunderous drum
That shakes the foundations of a world so fragile.


A blinded fly,
Not him,
But I, perched upon the window.

I've lost all thrill,
Can hear the sounds of them, still.

Were I to believe in Aphrodite,
My blind eyes would question, might he?
For such love, he could endure,
And from her eyes that might implore,
He may produce a single token,
Of unrequited love, since spoken.
And she into his gaze may whisper,
Words so defined by his kiss.

Long into the night she'll speak,
Upon her every word he'll hang.
As if mere words alone,
Were the puppet strings that dictated his body's actions.
Not torture for the pleasure gain,
Echoed in this love’s refrain,
Can scarcely be the work of fools,
But crafted by a workman's tools.

“Oh simple fly,
Don’t simplify,
Whilst on the wall,
In the documentary of their love.
The simple thoughts, that so contorts
The passion within this fashioned fancy.”

“Oh arrogant fly,
Oh why? Oh why?
Should you declare such crazy lines?
Were you not the poet that knew it,
You’d have flown far from such perch.
To linger lurking in such shadows,
While the mad hatters mumble
And finally from your tangent crumble,
And see once more the break of day.”

You'll see their lips so slowly parting,
As a posteriori words embarking,
From their mouths stumble,
And sighs instead begin to tumble,
One from her, a deep breath from him,
These actions stir their thoughts within,

This madness that just conducted,
An orchestral that flying high,
Transcends a symphony in their sky.

Were it not for him and me,
There’d be no need for a cup of tea.
No rumor nor thought that would delay,
The succession of thoughts, to feel this way.

Can truly there be said a verse,
That lifts this melodic siren's curse?
I wish I'd never been the fly,
Nor had the time to wonder why.

Though standing in your kitchen able,
Watching from across the table.
I could stand, not understand,
As hand in hand you and him dance.

In words alone and simple gestures,
Your simple heart, and his pester,
Until you both give into love,
This love?
What love?
Is it true?

And once more from across the table,
There I stand barely able.
To watch this sight in front of me.
Painting poetic misery.

I need to stand, won’t understand.
I fell for you and broke my heart.

In his eyes I hope you find,
Something that was left behind.
A key that to your heart unlocks,
That delicate and precious box.

So that from the ice, reveal.
That truly, you know how to feel.
I'll never know, what came over me.
All this over a cup of tea.

No words can penetrate the fears,
That linger upon loved ones ears.
When all the world corrupts in awe,
As inspiration you implore,
As once again canvas and brush,
In such humble hurry touch,
And all around the world is glistening,
While every soul has taken to listening.

Dare I now again profess,
That for your heart I'd surely die?
Or from a land of terror seek?
To be the prince so charming,
As to kiss the princess, upon her cheek.
Waking from the hallowed curse,
That lingers in this poets verse,
And in your waking you shall find,
Perhaps that soul you left behind.

I fell through darkness into light,
Battling from my wrongs to right.

To be that soul that you remember,
No longer left a dying ember
But becoming something more,
And not the man across the floor,
While you at the kitchen table,
See not me for I am able,
To be the visage in the corner,
That shall perish even stronger,
Now that you have spoken my name,
And made this tireless refrain,
Become the song that it wanted so,
From the time that you did go.

I fade away and am the fly,
That perched on the window,
Soon shall die.

“Oh simple fly,
Don’t simplify,
Whilst on the wall,
In the documentary of their love.
The simple thoughts, that so contorts,
The passion within this fashioned fancy.”

I'd stand beneath the stars and pine,
Were it that your heart were mine,
But never shall this day come forth,
Even with the star of north,
That guides the soldier swiftly home,
But even if that means alone,
I'd strive to find that single cure,
Unlocking the gateway true and sure,
I'd ask myself if this were true.
You don't love me,
But I love you.

“Oh arrogant fly,
Oh why? Oh why?
Should you declare such crazy lines?
Were you not the poet that knew it,
You’d have flown far from such perch.
To linger lurking in such shadows,
While the mad hatters mumble,
And finally from your tangent crumble,
And see once more the break of day.”

In his eyes I hope you find,
Something that was left behind.
A key that to your heart unlocks,
That delicate and precious box.
So that from the ice, reveal.
That truly you know how to feel.

I'll never know what came over me.
All this over a cup of tea.