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At the moment of death
Might the victim look upon
The Killer's face finding there
An Angels love, in eyes of mercy?
Feeling joy perhaps, as last breath
Resulting by acts carried out prior?
Perhaps upon the escaping breath,
Whispered from dead lips then
Translated by the only ears to hear
Is joy, understanding and greatfulness
To a mind of the psychopath?
So suddenly, certainly, the certainty
Itself, as it was does seem to vanish.
It had been... Had it not?.. Been.
Real as the hidden clauses, was it not love?
Contingent upon unfaultered perfection, love offered
Promises given, whispered and offered in acts and,
In written words poetically dedicated and surrendered.
Known to be as it holds a cadence it, this, unspoken unobtainable and loafty demand that nothing less,
No hint of weakness or need of any but your own be shown.
At pain of loss, at loss of stature and withdrawal of unproven unconditional love whispered across those infuriatingly
And unforgettable lips I know I do and will and forever still promise to, try after, cry over forever to fail for, you, yours, our love. As I know no want no need, no other will be mine, as it seems neither are or will yours be mine... Love.
As human and imperfect and made of lesser things than the stone you desire, I am destined to fail, every attempt I make at being perfect.
Beneath the blades of grass
The dew again forming
Catalyst, cool new air carries
Moisture, evaporated tears
Of yesterday, of yesteryear
To cling upon the surface as
Countless drops appear,
each pure, unpolluted, reflecting
Growing, to be shed again
To the earth as do these thoughts
But to the void beating in me
Pushing blood to keep me going
The way of things does not matter
Whilst emotions or unattended lack
There in does to one so mournful.

I. Miss.  You.
Right now, hesitant
Barely able to remember
Back and forth
This inner debate goes
Who is losing
What is the point of winning
I simply struggle
These thoughts of mine
Epiphanies, life changing
If I could only make tangible
Cause when I think
It seems clouds are my thoughts
Brought down briefly
Before drifting away once more
To play and my head leads the way.
I am one that can be selfish
Lost in my heart, made of thought
Strung, twisted and knotted
Pulled, drawn tight inward
That in itself, is a little different.

Seeking, feeling about
The notion of being able
only to be, one who is
I have no grasp as of yet
as to how, Why
I'm in the world made through vision
my life, my doing?
I struggle to communicate
This isolated voice within
With no reason
other than to be alone,
no more a good life  
I know I am of countless
But I speak alone
Hear no one as they too
Are bound within fleshly prisons.
Work in progress about the communication we all long for on a level the bodies we are each bound to just seem incapable of doing effectively.
I sit
and I ask myself

selfish questions

important to me,
Me Alone.

They aren't all very deep.
But all of them,
Are about me.

it is something
I wish I had
or that
I feel I need.

If my scope broadens
As it has in occasion
I think about another

Gone. Now.

These thoughts
are full circle
Back to me.

How I miss them
If they think of me?
if I ever will see them again?

Why they left me?

So selfish,
not to want
As I want.

When they are all
I seem to think about.

How lonely it is
for Me.

Why make Me feel
This way.
Nobody ever thinks,
About Me.

To know these thoughts
Pulling my mood to bleak
Each time my mind entertains
The notion and secret admiration
Unobtainable visions you are.

You might guess but I guard them
My pride and my aging acceptance
The denial and the hindsightedness
Bitterness so impotent and useless

Beautiful, You, and I  can't bring attention
I'm. Too old, too far past the moment
No. I must appreciate from afar
Stolen glances from forgettable interactions.

It's not a blameable situation
I am longful, going for eyes
that see inside and passed
The lines of time too clearly present
Hopef but for One whom tries for
Proximity and time by my side
and that is never yours to supply.

It ***** I am so far ahead of
My youthful desires
and the unsaid.
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