Lately
I don’t feel close
to poetry.

It feels elusive.
Unfamiliar.
Once it spoke to me.
But now it’s mute.

It sits back
and doesn’t look
at me.

If I call out
it doesn’t hear.

Lately poetry is
like that demon
I used to want
to reappear.

Who would think a rose so sweet
Would dry and crumble at the feet
And blooms that scent the night and day
Would steal a heart, then fade away

With petals soft and fondly red
Sweet essence fills an addled head
Then turns to dust before the eyes
Leaving naught, but sad surprise

Who would think such thorny vine
Could lift a blossom as divine
And by the stem on which it stands
Could so wrong an offered hand

Such strength and beauty is rarely true
A blessing owned by very few
As 'neath the soil, in winters keep
There sleeps a rose to tear a cheek

Who would think that perfect bloom
Could be a bane, a curse of doom
So fine a sight, yet in disguise
A rose to ***** and blind the eyes

I’ve never received a flower
Or even a rose
But I’m a guy
So it’s acceptable I suppose
No kisses
Or sweets
No treats
That signifies ones feelings for me
No token of ones love
But I have gotten
Disappointment
Watered with hate
Planted in betrayal
Fertilized with lies
And maintained by fakes
Roses are Red
But my roses are dead
And crumble beneath my feet

I've got eyes
That makes me human
But I can't see very well through them
So I'm blind
The blurry kind
These eyes of mine
Are awfully ruined
Like an owl
My sight is fowl
In the morning when the sun rays burn right through them
The darkest shades
Would no less save
These white jelly ***** attached to my eye stems
But worst of all
Without discrediting any other travesty
Is that  these big eyes
Be they regular sized
Can't seem to see that you are bad for me
Though family-like folks
With impeccable eye yolks
Could see for days
Your shiny scales
Me as thick
And blind as a brick
Couldn't see a flick of your evil ways
To me you're kind
From the outer to inner sides
And with these eyes
I can no less find
A wrinkle in your peachy colored float and flutter cocoa butter mind
Although your cheats
And cheating like things
Are clear and clean
And as close as my cheeks
I conclude
Be it bitter and shrewd
That none is as blind as she who will not see...