Did I mean so little that in a few months time all that was is gone and is so quickly replaced?
Was I so horrible that already she confesses love to another?
I have tried to forget,
I have tried to turn from that day,
I have tried to look to that bright side;
But all of this to no avail.
Months later, and yet I still want to die.
To die, to sleep,
Perchance to dream.
But what dreams would be left of me
Now that love has died
And the hollow crust that
Remains but wishes for a reprieve
In pain?
This is the rub.
For all kindnesses mean nothing,
All the generosity, forgotten,
All the love, lies.
No goodness goes unpunished,
No wickedness unrewarded.
What was the web my beautiful
Web-weaver,
Friend of night
And master of twilight?
Even as I lay within the weave,
My body an empty husk,
I cannot see the strands for
What they are.
What was the point of this
Pitiful cacophony,
O mistress of three million
Songs?
Was I the fool male
Which came to you,
Blackest of widows?
Was it even then
That I was but your last
Repast before the birth
Of another hundred fold
Of your treacherous
Black-tounged ilk?
Thus have I come to
This place of last remorse,
And have felt -
Trembling and weeping -
For what I no longer understand.
Damned succubus
And nightshade,
To you all my
Orisons were paid.
Now, I am a pauper of blessing,
Fallen before the faith,
Believing in but doubt.
What did I do to deserve this?
Was I such a banshee that
Your legs now wrap another,
Which shortly had wrapped me?
"a promise not a confession"
Of Love?
From you?
Ha!
What poor fool is now
Drawn into the weave.
No hatred do I feel for him,
No jealousy or anger;
But only remorse do I feel,
I pity that - for him -
What is to come.
One month,
Oh my foolish friend,
She did say that she
Would be with me forever.
Now she is with you,
Promising what she has broken,
Breaking what she swore.
I cannot take this anymore.
For over a year have I held the knife,
And my heart held it hence;
But that heart is dead.
So for your lust I must suffer?
So for your whims I must weep?
So for your excuses I am branded,
Thrown aside, cursed, spat upon?
So for your happiness do I still
Fall upon the floor:
Shake, tremble, bleed tears,
And cease my hearts beat,
My lungs breath?
If one did this to you,
At what point is it justified?
And no, this is not me,
It IS you.
Will does not control everything,
Reason does not always equate rhyme,
And Love can never be promised.
It is or it is not.
It is true or it is false.
It is full or it is empty.
And it is this fool male who is thus:
Empty, a shell,
Drained by that which was promised,
Destroyed by that sweet kiss,
And left now,
Bleeding black onto this papyrus weave,
Waiting for this last embrace.
No kiss shall I receive,
No embrace shall I feel,
Only coldness,
Only the tingle of the web.
Alone...
...alone...
......alone.
Author notes
I just spat this out as I thought it, simply trying to gush out my thoughts as I am abruptly overcome with emotion. So please excuse the awkwardness and the unordered mess.
What are your thoughts? Did you enjoy it?
Comments
-
Well Done
Not quite traditional in some senses. But that is part of the beauty. Increadibly casual. Like a letter or a confersation.
-
Wow. "Heartbreaking to you". Really? Is that supposed to be greater parts sympathy than irony? Just wow...I wish I had your unbridled audacity. Also "well done"...fuck, so casual. Like instead of the suffering of a lifetime he was inspired by an arbitrary prompt in a middle school English class or something. Hopefully the remark's recipient views it in a different light and takes it better. I personally am kind of bewildered, quite honestly.
Anyway...this is probably the best poem of yours I can remember reading. It has a very old-school feel, and I mean that as in it has an almost Shakespearean type of feel with some of the references you make and imagery you use, and word choice in general. You usually have that kind of style, but I have yet to see it all mesh together for a clarity of purpose on the level of this one.
Also, although you cited this as awkward I honestly think you avoided awkwardness better than in most of your more lofty, verbose poems. This is a really emotional piece, obviously, and is quite well-written besides that.
That is all, except I simply must answer:
"So for your lust I must suffer?
So for your whims I must weep?
So for your excuses I am branded,
Thrown aside, cursed, spat upon?
So for your happiness do I still
Fall upon the floor:
Shake, tremble, bleed tears,
And cease my hearts beat,
My lungs breath?"
The answer to this is "yes". Whether you ever receive that answer or not, it's a "yes", and the events themselves scream it more loudly than a voice ever could, and far more loudly than a voice could scream "no". Also, rationality would say you could expect nothing more or less if things were to repeat themselves...I think investigation would likely find a pattern here.
No matter how many times I say it I know it won't be any true help, but you could do better. And that's not speculation, that's a guarantee.
-
-
Thank you, though I wish I felt so enthusiastic. My appologies, pardon the... whatever this is. Words have begun to fail me, I'm afraid.
-
-
Simply Put
This poem is both beautiful and heartbreaking to me.
Well done.
Adding your comment:
