Man, whatever bleakness has named
You, I have never seen your face.
I imagine you rugged and more....
More than I had been for her.
I imagine she sees strength in you like
A stone on a mountaintop: loftily perched.
And your hands that have stolen my embraces,
I imagine them smoother than my calloused
Fingers,
My jealousies grow as you see in this poem,
It kills me, every verse that I imagine you....
Are you like this?
Is this the unimaginable lust she has for you,
Are your ears ringing now,
Do you even acknowledge me as her man?
Tell me, tell me if you held her through death,
Did she cry herself to sleep in your arms?
When you see your destiny,
Is she among the constellations you foretell?
I am sure you are quite the lover,
You who now kiss the woman I had before,
You who hold her in adoration,
Perhaps you know why I wanted to live,
Because you have stolen all good from me,
All the hope I had from this verse,
In petrification of my soul
I confess to you I am a broken man.
What divine intervention will seek you out?
Will karma let you be as happy as I was?
In a myriad of solemn thoughts,
I am at a loss for the wrath I hope vengeance has for you.
But treat her well,
Kiss her methodically and with purpose,
And maybe she will show her angelic eyes
Which promise forever, quietly whispering:
I will be here with you always,
So that when the promise has penetrated you,
The divinity you feel at the comfort of her
Lifetime of promised cherishing,
Maybe she will find something else
In another promise of another soul,
Only this thought eases the heavy bitterness
Left in my procession of days.
For now move forward,
Because I am paralysed,
And to the other man,
The burden of me writing this poem.