He lied so casually;
Such little meaning in such big statements. When he said “I love you”, did he ever truly mean it? Has he ever meant anything? Was his whole being merely a facade? Chasing the answers; Does he ever truly wish to find them? He finds depressive thoughts comforting; So lost in self-pity, he loves to feel sadness. Something to hold deep within. He bleeds words onto paper, too afraid to bleed in the open; An ever-spiraling cycle. He knows his demons are many; He knows his demons are self-made. Depression grips him, as depression is relief. Is the world even real when his thoughts are so inward and selfish? Lost. Lost. Lost. Do I want to be found? Do I want to find myself? I think not; I fear I am not the person I would like to be. When did he turn into me? How did this happen?
The lines between fantasy and reality are so blurred. Paenitentia.
Warm hearts Stars embrace, Their counterparts
The forest fell away, and they now lay in the stars embrace.
Two orchid petals glisten gingerly,
In the ripples of the moving pond Two stars blaze passionately, In the sky's veiled moonlight Two butterflies flutter an auburn dream, On the lilypad's emerald contrast And two eyes radiate life and love, As her cheekbones flush deep scarlet, and her smile steals my breathe.
He spoke with such eloquence;
As he piqued her interest He spoke with such intelligence; As her cheeks did blush He spoke with such confidence; As she succumbed to his charm He spoke with soft promises; As the romance drew her He spoke with burning passion; As she fell into his arms He spoke with sweet poems; As she fell hopelessly in love He spoke of their future; As she was lost in their present He spoke of his soul-mate; As she was lost in his soul He spoke of forever; As forever took hold He spoke of hopeless romance; As she uncovered his disguise He spoke of fate and destiny; As she saw through his facade And, he spoke of true love; As she realized, He had only, Ever, Loved, Himself.
Maybe Paenitentia was only ever in love with the idea of love.
A bird sits alone,
In the forest of Vive Its delicate whisper, Another does heed They flutter through trees, In a tango of attraction Intricate flight heats; And ignites their passion But one does leave; And one gives heartfelt chase A true hopeless romantic, Lost in the forest's wake.
Paenitentia watches alone in the forest.
She was the epoch of beauty;
As her silken hair cascaded, Over the slender form of her shoulders She was the epitome of purity; As her gentle whispers dispersed, The darkness from within his soul She was the personification of heaven; As her endless love entwined both, Drawing them blissfully ever-skyward She was the relief of weightlessness; As her soul helped bear his grief, The burden of sorrowed life extinguished She was the extremity of destruction; As she drifted from his presence, The truancy leaving his soul condemned She was the essence of life; As he felt it drift from reach, Her auburn eyes, fading from memory. She was.
How can one be so far away; yet, so indescribably close? Paenitentia's light fades slowly.
He stands by the pond,
And marvels her Auburn eyes; The sun cannot comprehend, The beauty with which they shine. The cosmos cannot wonder, For the beauty of her soul Alas, this day is dark; And he stands by the pond, alone.
Paenitentia in the garden of old.
He awakes to her form;
Sleeping so gently Alas, it is not her; Her eyes are blue Not the Auburn, He knows so well.
Even in another's presence, Paenitentia can indulge no freedom.
The quill welcomes,
His sorrowed soul Upon weathered parchment, His lost mind scrawls The words are merely ink, Yet scribed in blood He asks her forgiveness, But he asks too much
Paenitentia must remember what he did.
Our lives lead down solitary roads;
Yet, these roads lie so close How so often then must we just miss A soul who could share our woes?
Solitary lives; solitary souls.