Pain and paradox
A stairway to heaven ?
Or steps into hell , laden with torment ?
Miles walked in finger tying
Or oceans full of ink
My skin inverted in every page
And unfiltered view into my vulnerability
Over fourteen hundred
Poems , professions , purging's
Of my beating heart
To her
A box full of memoirs
I don't want to revisit alone
she never saw the affection
The reason
I can't reread without the yearning
The anger , the hurt
Behind the love that catalyzed
Each and every page
How I could pour myself
Into the abyss , which seems to be
Her heart
And never to be regarded
As anything more than a generic
Ode
I can never go back to the man
The neglect
re live that part of my life
That went unappreciated
The emptiness , of not even a response
How one could read such an innocent , pure affection
And not be overwhelmed
No , I can never reread those
Those offerings of unconditional,
Unwavering , infante love
because for each and every recollection
If just how much she was the life I lived
The love I've always wanted
I'm haunted by all the pain
How she tossed it aside
Rejection
How she never really appreciated
All I had to offer
So I'm stuck
With a pile , over fourteen hundred poems
That I can never reread
Not without her
The pain and paradox
Of a love lost ,
Or a love I never really had ....
Oct 23, 2014
Oct 23, 2014 at 2:16 PM UTC
Pain and paradox
A stairway to heaven ?
Or steps into hell , laden with torment ?
Miles walked in finger tying
Or oceans full of ink
My skin inverted in every page
And unfiltered view into my vulnerability
Over fourteen hundred
Poems , professions , purging's
Of my beating heart
To her
A box full of memoirs
I don't want to revisit alone
she never saw the affection
The reason
I can't reread without the yearning
The anger , the hurt
Behind the love that catalyzed
Each and every page
How I could pour myself
Into the abyss , which seems to be
Her heart
And never to be regarded
As anything more than a generic
Ode
I can never go back to the man
The neglect
re live that part of my life
That went unappreciated
The emptiness , of not even a response
How one could read such an innocent , pure affection
And not be overwhelmed
No , I can never reread those
Those offerings of unconditional,
Unwavering , infante love
because for each and every recollection
If just how much she was the life I lived
The love I've always wanted
I'm haunted by all the pain
How she tossed it aside
Rejection
How she never really appreciated
All I had to offer
So I'm stuck
With a pile , over fourteen hundred poems
That I can never reread
Not without her
The pain and paradox
Of a love lost ,
Or a love I never really had ....