It would be unwise to decipher the ache in his heart.
So much so that he truly believes
If he were to dig down into the depths
To recall the origin of that wretched,
unwelcome, drowning sensation,
He would no longer have the strength
To climb out of that pitch black hole.
That he may be forced along Dante’s path
With no guide nor God to lead him safely.
For within those depths he will plunge, and
The path of the absurd waits hungrily at the crossroad.
Fate is an unrelenting brute.
It’s never tempted by diversion
Or wise men with silver tongues
Forming hopeful hypotheses.
It’s simple though: Que sera, sera.
The young mother,
an abandoned lover,
has felt the cold steel
Of Fate’s unbiased blade
Gliding easily along her cheek
And perhaps the cackling clown
Sobs quietly in his room
After a standing ovation.
Remembering, all too well
Why his smile is simply a mask.
She has one of those rare enchanting smiles
One that captivates an entire room immediately
With a flash of teeth and blush in her cheek.
Without reprieve, her smile brings courage to the meek.
Do I recite the name in hopes it will bring back that old sensation
When hope was in the air, and just that word could reincarnate
Every bit of splendor that we shared?
No.
All that’s left is the smudge in hindsight
The blur that fights for recognition,
When I’d really prefer,
It stay no more, or no less, than a tiny, insignificant blur
He dreams about her far too often…
No matter the elixir he consumes.
Whether it be wine,
Or a dry martini,
A swig of codeine,
Or herbal remedies,
the reveries,
They never cease.
I would embrace the air around me
As it has grown thick with her aroma,
The ground she dances upon
As it has irrevocably become hallowed,
The vibrations in the ether as she speaks
For it selflessly grants, all auditors peace.
Is there no end to the guilt that I feel?
Do I blame myself for another’s yield?
If light means life then I must concede;
the darkness has found me, as daylight recedes.
It smears carbon black over eyes pearl white.
Concealing the pleasure, enforcing the blight.
The agony is a bore, life becomes a chore;
when all that I can fathom
is the day it ran me ragged.
It’s enough to kill a man, unrequited love.
It’s enough to keep his Winters frigid
and his Summers smoldering.
He’ll rarely feel comfort anymore.
At times a glimmer crosses his eye
and normality kisses his forehead,
then skitters off down the lane,
laughing as the man’s futile stride
stumbles over a storm drain
Collapsing to his knees,
cursing what’s left
Of his mediocre life.
She sent me off on a tangent
A spacewalk without a helmet
With nothing but a gulp of air
And the desolation at which I stare
He sometimes finds it unbearable to rise from slumber
Knowing well the thoughts concealed at night
Wipe the sandman from their eyes to cumber
A man who asks if love for him will ever reignite
Waiting for the answer the man crawls out of bed
Succumbs as the bombardment of her memory
Ricochets relentlessly around his drooping head.
And the man waits, only to hear a Songbird’s melody.
The Way it Goes 