From tall steeples church bells' ring,
Cupid's arrow has a painful sting.
And still of you I long to sing,
my heart glows blue, a crystal bling.
To stay away, I could not endure,
for this affliction I know no cure.
But writing soothes and numbs the ache,
red-hot coals, thrown in a lake.
Still, no lake is quite so cold
to quench these embers, truth be told.
When you walk in, I feel like I need an inhaler
- instant asthma - your eyes make stars seem paler.
Every time I make you laugh,
half of my soul meets the other half.
I said I'd quit, that these poems are done,
but I relapse, sentimentality has won.
In the morning again I'll say:
"There is no us, there is no way",
But evening melancholy crystallizes into rhyme,
the urge to write keeps winning every time.
Like an alcoholic taking a shot every other day,
I can't get over you if I can't get away.
And I don't want to, no matter what they say,
this fatal addiction - I wouldn't have it any other way.
Even if I get on my own nerves during day,
the nights are ours, as sleepless I lay.
Up until 3 am, thinking of the perfect metaphor,
for the call of my muse I cannot ignore.
So, call me silly, call me a fool,
I'm a romantic, under love's rule.
Aug 27, 2020
Aug 27, 2020 at 8:05 AM UTC
From tall steeples church bells' ring,
Cupid's arrow has a painful sting.
And still of you I long to sing,
my heart glows blue, a crystal bling.
To stay away, I could not endure,
for this affliction I know no cure.
But writing soothes and numbs the ache,
red-hot coals, thrown in a lake.
Still, no lake is quite so cold
to quench these embers, truth be told.
When you walk in, I feel like I need an inhaler
- instant asthma - your eyes make stars seem paler.
Every time I make you laugh,
half of my soul meets the other half.
I said I'd quit, that these poems are done,
but I relapse, sentimentality has won.
In the morning again I'll say:
"There is no us, there is no way",
But evening melancholy crystallizes into rhyme,
the urge to write keeps winning every time.
Like an alcoholic taking a shot every other day,
I can't get over you if I can't get away.
And I don't want to, no matter what they say,
this fatal addiction - I wouldn't have it any other way.
Even if I get on my own nerves during day,
the nights are ours, as sleepless I lay.
Up until 3 am, thinking of the perfect metaphor,
for the call of my muse I cannot ignore.
So, call me silly, call me a fool,
I'm a romantic, under love's rule.