The throes of despair know me well
In these contemplative hours.
This nourishing fruit beyond my grasp.
This quenching water beneath my cupped hands.
How dismal longing is--
Once ingenious affectations that now fall flat.
Suppose I speak clearly that I love you...
Surely, you would humor my plea?
It is a game, this question of authenticity.
I approach you naive, in the garden,
Offering the whole of my soul.
After all, is love not revealing?
Illuminating the secrets and the scars
That I laid at the grave of my heart.
Your fire dances just out of reach,
That strange and wicked joy.
Wicked in that I cannot love you so.
Wicked in that this is punishment--
Yet to care for you is to welcome
Home the rays of the setting sun.
I would stop Great Helios like Joshua
If it meant being with you forever.
But oh my love, my love, my love!
There you are, an intangible cherished image,
My spirit begging through my fingertips.
God has commanded your fate
And yearn as I may,
Fate is fixed and you are pulled away.
YOU ARE READING
In Lieu of the Expressionist
PoetryInfluenced by art, mythology, folklore, and alternative expressions, these poems are the culmination of growth over three years. Having had the chance the participate in a creative writing mentorship program, win an award (National Gold Medal in Poe...
