The feeling in which I wish to describe
Is not easily penned, nor said and why,
It’s not like something I’ve ever thought,
But it’s always been inside me to end, and wrought,
It is always present to ruin my thought,
And finally a vague depiction I’ve caught,
So please endeavor to bear with me yet,
As I endeavor to preparedly set
A most dreadful tone and thought in mind,
And deceive you of what you hide entwined.

Imagine if you will,
And humor me still,

Awake to find solace in the wrapped arms
Around you that caress your dreams and skin alike.
The warmth of the body that lay to you next,
Is soft as silk and softer even in mind,
With cherished thoughts of love and tender,
With valued honor to be defender
Of someone you see as perfection in life,
And one who you wish to spare from all strife.
-
And as they lay there still asleep,
You imagine their dreams, and cherish their peace,
You slowly drift off to join them again,
But wonder why you had first awaken,
What took you from your nap of naps,
What pulled you from a cloud’s collapse,
And with that thought you start to hurt,
All the worst things from dust to dirt,
Creep upon that sleepy head,
To reveal themselves as living dead.
Thought you they gone,
Gone had they not,
Ever present and likely sought,
The solace of your weary eyes,
And behind, the mind, cause of all despise.
-
For me, I held on to those arms
That felt like they’d never let go.
So why then did I need to hold on,
If solitude’s answer was “no”?
I felt as if it couldn’t last,
As if happiness was not as vast,
As promised as in the poems I’ve read
As fore-held as high as mountain’s lead.
I thought that if I could just hold on,
She might not let go, she’d see and keep on,
Maybe, I thought, she’d awake and smile,
Her groggy eyes beglazed and docile,
A visible love passing her sight,
Connecting through me and shooing the night,
I saw as it was a glorious bolt,
Of lightning, although as thin as smoke,
And smoke it was as dissipating,
And truth be told disappointing,
Because it was not that she even fluttered,
The fault not hers, but I still shuddered,
I imagined it all without her there,
Her kind fair eyes, and scented hair,
It didn’t seem right, not true or correct,
To have her absent and not connect,
But alas, it was with great found sorrow,
That she vacated on the morrow,
She left me in a pool of blood,
But figuratively I should say, could
It have been that all I was
Inside for her and that was,
The sanguine that cascaded upon departure
Of my love, of my Cupid’s Archer,
I sat for weeks and thought of that night,
Where I awoke and wondered this very plight,
I almost lost my very sight,
When rubbing my brow and temples so bright,
That I had in some sort an epiphany,
That this was this forsaken feeling,
That I have had throughout my life,
Of never allowing me to be all right,
Of nevermore allowed to be happy,
Of forevermore condemned to be misery,
In this, I found contemptible content,
She’ll pass and pass to my lament,
At least a spy might I be granted,
But to loneliness, I can’t understand it.