I am an old fashioned lover,
When I love I really
REALLY love,
Pour out all of me,
For and over and all about
The woman I adore,

And sometimes it has been
Worth it and wonderful,
Time and a journey shared,
And sometimes, truthfully?
Not so much wonder full,
So much as I really wonder why,

And then there's you,
Poured out over big time
Loved and adored to my detriment,
But sharing and reciprocation?
No, you were are and always will be

All about

You.

I know I am unworthy & undeserving,
Beneath you, love;
And yet, with shame,
I feel the same as I have always
This heart - of yours.
It is kindred, and full of lust.
Hopelessly infatuated,
Though I know we were all wrong.
I can't help it,
And I assure you it isn't obsession
For I have known that,
This is not it.

Just painfully unrequited,
For all my faults.

Like a lonely rose
froze to stone,
heart hardened to marble
below a coat of snow;
barbed bones grow
labored and slow
but red petals
still radiate, aglow-
posed not quite open,
although not quite closed.

Warmer wind blows,
rain drops
clapping, lachrymose;
spring-lit spirit sprints
towards summer solstice, awoke;
green leaves,
emerald embers stoked,
emitting dandelion smoke.

Trophy bouquet meadows
of romanceless nosegay
and posy mosaic laying apropos;
seeds evoked and thrown
from my own torso.

Emotions
forwards flown
to almost certain vertigo
then swiftly sunk in undertow
from only breeze's uneven strokes;

No thing hallowed,
corpse bloated, decomposed;
worms hunger and burrow,
tomorrow sowing unknown woes-
soul harrowed as if I chose.

He believes he is not ready
Yet he doesn't see how much shes adores him
He says he couldn't afford a relationship
Though he doesn't know she would be fine staying exactly how they are
With the late night phonecalls randomly and there letting each other know when they'll be unavailable
She loved how he seems to remember the small little things from their conversation
She loves how he has the same interest as her
But she cannot say she loves him though. Because that takes much more time to know.
She knows she adores him with her whole heart but never tell him

beautiful boy with the golden eyes
please don’t make me cry
the weight of your words changed my life
these feelings I have
I’ve never felt til tonight
in this moment it’s like suicide
taking my life
the decision’s all mine
I suppose it’s a toxic love
that’s really all I know
but I’m in it til the end
I won't let go

I have given you the bakery,
The flour mill,
The barn,
I have passed the keys and title
To these allegories of
My heart entire,
Placed them in your care,
Expecting the deeds to your
Estate at some point in return,
Your physicality,
Your romance,
Love
And your desire and yet
Your response is nary
A crumb,
Let alone a slice or a loaf
From even my own oven,
The flour that I have planted and grown,
And harvested and milled,
All counts for nowt,
So I'm folding those deeds away now,
And watching and waiting
To see what crop
You choose to reap instead,
What crop,
Which farm,
And indeed with whom.

I don't know when you will be mine,
Or when you will be with someone else.
But in my heart, I love you,
Yet my mind tells me that it's unrequited.

I stand on the precipice of my feelings,
Torn between the desire to confess
And the fear of rejection.
The words I long to say
Are trapped in the corridors of my heart,
Echoing in the silence of my solitude.

Every time I see you,
My heart beats a symphony of hope and despair,
A melody only I can hear.
I cherish the moments, the fleeting glances,
The smiles that light up my world,
Yet leave me yearning for more.

My mind, ever practical, warns me,
"This love is unreturned, unspoken, and unfulfilled."
But my heart, filled with passion and dreams,
Whispers, "Hold on, perhaps one day..."

I watch as you walk away,
Hand in hand with fate,
While I remain in the shadows,
Bound by the chains of my unvoiced love.

I dream of the day I can tell you,
The day my courage overcomes my fear,
But until then, I live in this silent reverie,
Loving you from afar,
A love that gives me strength and breaks me all at once.

For now, my love remains a secret,
A beautiful yet painful secret.
I love you yet, I can't tell you.
And so, I continue to wait,
Hoping that one day, you might see me,
And hear the unspoken words of my heart.

I have said I love you
So many times,
Yet that was not enough,
I have changed my very
Heart and soul
To return the real me,
That too was not enough,
I have buttled and battled
For you and for us,
Put self last and
Impoverished myself,
Even so twas not enough

Til now as if waking,
The worried words of friends
Break through,
Ring true,
For all that I
Poured myself out
Over and into you,
The return on my investment,
Love and heart and soul,
That return - requited nurture,
That visceral need for me,
That love returned,
It is actually THAT

Thats

Not

Enough

Throughout the life of this lonely traveler, one thing has been true.

No one knows the burdens of a truthful, man.

Women pine, quake and laugh about the piteous concerns, and lies of, men.

But, no man has ever exposed the truth of women and their lies.



Clothes to cover up, aging flesh, morose temperament, and the scars of woe & wrath.

Mascara, the dark filth of the earth, to cover tired eyes and the depth of secrets in the soul.

Paint, to cover the cracks of age, and the true doom of the beautiful, yet withering, rose that is youth.

White lies, that blind and twist the fabric of a man's sense of truth and wonder about his love.



The lies are small, the vanity deep, and the wrinkles like rivers that are of broken reason. Trickling; yet, like veins in the eye,

The blood of falsity bleeds deep into the twisted soul of the lying woman. The illusion.

The lies are. Small. Yet each day, each month, each year, they are built skyward, like bricks in a chimney.

The smoke from within is putrid and rife with the anger of misunderstanding and emotional vapor.



The chimneys I see reveal factories of deceit and compulsive irony. The make-up of woman-kind.

They beg for truth, yet hide everything but tears to the eyes of their coddled lovers.

Each man, a babe; helpless to the hammer and clock of heart break to come.

A woman will tell one lie to save your soul... then tell another, to sell it to carrion. The lost.



I am lost. I am a vulture to truth and I am sickened by the taste of greed for love.

They tell me, they hurt, because one man broke promises meant to churn the engines of love...

Yet they continue to stir the cauldron of their own false worries and stifle the honesty of love.

What do they want? My soul? My. Soul? I will give it. I will bury it in the grave of pity, I will.



I will shovel out all the hope, dreams and promises I have to give and empty out a nest; in there.

I have burrowed out the ache and the pain of the bricks and lies women have told me, just to make home for new residence.

When I watch the walls crumble from the coom and cuss, of their idiocy, I will simply clean up the mess.

I have no more to give, but what I hope to be and what I hope to have once I find the woman without lies.



Truth is, men are masters, 'because' of women. Physical strength is all that keeps them at bay, because they, once, slaved us to their needs, we tipped the balance and hold the chain of destiny, in hopes of taming the horses that pull the chariot of angels.

The woman I see, riding the chariot is fierce and bright, like the light that shines that forms the ever-present sun.

I watch her until she passes by and wait for an empty return.

As I am here, with an empty soul... For. New. Residence.



The emotional man, is whipped and beaten by that chariot-woman. She laughs and curses me into the dirt.

But, I stand up righteous in my pursuit for the honest woman. The 'giving' woman.

She waits upon the highest tower, letting down the chains of our bond, to give me flight to the heavens.

... Until then. I simply. Have.

No woman.