Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Knowing you love me
Is exquisitely painful,
My fervid desire
112814
10w senryu
~

Afraid to look where you have been
with straight ahead so hard to stare
Just look beside you my sweet friend
and know that I’ll be standing there
I should've guessed, I should've known.
If there's a lightning, thunder will come.

That I was a guest, this wasn't my home,
but I was just too afraid to be alone.

Winds might change after tomorrow
and the sea my pain could somehow swallow.

But today there's this mountain of sorrow,
that blocks the sun, and makes me feel hollow.
if you never see the universe,
you think this world
is all there is
I'm drowning senselessly
while you're falling in love endlessly  

Was it something I did
or was it something [she] said

What [changed] your mind
or was there something more to her than there was to me

I'm nothing special
and I hate calling myself fragile
but my weakness is [you] not loving me back

[And] here I lay in my bed
wondering if [I] could have done anything different
but there's nothing to solve in this head of mine

Because we don't meet eye to eye
and we [can't] go back now
Times have [change]
and so have [you]

I wish I can just go [back]
to when things were just normal
Sitting in your car
    Parked outside my house
You had to leave soon
        But, it was so peaceful out
You kissed me so sweetly
           deeply
Then you asked me
     I saw it coming, honestly
Yet, I was still shocked
           And more than a little terrified...
     Mine?  Yours?
Belonging to one another?
        I wasn't sure how this made me feel
     So many doubts and questions,
Running through my mind
             I don't like admitting it
But you're really a rare find
               Honest, sweet and kind
   I'm not sure I feel as strongly as you do
         Cause we both know the past I've been through
     I think I'm gonna try
            For you
But you seriously gotta make an effort too
       I don't wanna do this alone
   I know you're busy
Just pick up the phone
         Make some time for me
You want me to be your girl?
         Then you gotta be my guy
But this whole thing terrifies me
      I'm not gonna lie
I'll NEVER cheat
           I'll stay faithful and true
    But seriously,
That's what you gotta do too...
        So, what's my answer to you?
     First, I have stipulations
I'm not a girl all about big DECLARATIONS
          I'm the poet, I'll do that
     But I gotta know you're with me
          That you got my back...
    I'm not afraid to admit
                 I need attention
       If you can handle that
           And my crazy A$$
   Then I'll be **all yours
True Story.
I crawl unnoticed
into your bed,
having done so many times before.
I know you.

Familiar is always inviting.
The warm sheets, welcoming pillows
bound reflexively around you.
I am that inch of the bed
you never knew.

Darkness and discomfort rapidly infect
the free-spirited bliss that befriends you daily

Toss left.
Toss right.

Your brain in my hands,
a black slab of clay

Open your eyes,
all that seemed so clear, now
clouded like a stone dropped
into still shallow water.

I decide to unchain you,
for you may manage your physical existence, but

I am the puppeteer of your alternate reality.
I
Happy are men who yet before they are killed
Can let their veins run cold.
Whom no compassion fleers
Or makes their feet
Sore on the alleys cobbled with their brothers.
The front line withers.
But they are troops who fade, not flowers,
For poets' tearful fooling:
Men, gaps for filling:
Losses, who might have fought
Longer; but no one bothers.


                                   II
And some cease feeling
Even themselves or for themselves.
Dullness best solves
The tease and doubt of shelling,
And Chance's strange arithmetic
Comes simpler than the reckoning of their shilling.
They keep no check on armies' decimation.


                                   III
Happy are these who lose imagination:
They have enough to carry with ammunition.
Their spirit drags no pack.
Their old wounds, save with cold, can not more ache.
Having seen all things red,
Their eyes are rid
Of the hurt of the colour of blood for ever.
And terror's first constriction over,
Their hearts remain small-drawn.
Their senses in some scorching cautery of battle
Now long since ironed,
Can laugh among the dying, unconcerned.


                                   IV
Happy the soldier home, with not a notion
How somewhere, every dawn, some men attack,
And many sighs are drained.
Happy the lad whose mind was never trained:
His days are worth forgetting more than not.
He sings along the march
Which we march taciturn, because of dusk,
The long, forlorn, relentless trend
From larger day to huger night.


                                   V
We wise, who with a thought besmirch
Blood over all our soul,
How should we see our task
But through his blunt and lashless eyes?
Alive, he is not vital overmuch;
Dying, not mortal overmuch;
Nor sad, nor proud,
Nor curious at all.
He cannot tell
Old men's placidity from his.


                                   VI
But cursed are dullards whom no cannon stuns,
That they should be as stones.
Wretched are they, and mean
With paucity that never was simplicity.
By choice they made themselves immune
To pity and whatever mourns in man
Before the last sea and the hapless stars;
Whatever mourns when many leave these shores;
Whatever shares
The eternal reciprocity of tears
(C) Wilfred Owen
Next page