Tempest past and present tepid,
hearts flawed and at surface fractured,
while silence dons its broad fedora
and souls in grasp of pale auras,
where life wanes in dull grey repose,
as if love did tear an unseal-able hole
in all that could possibly be.
Food nor drink can fill that hole,
emotions rolled in anxiety,
like trill bells resounding
in the badly tuned beat of impropriety,
knotted stomach and pained sobriety,
just maintains the purging regret
and in shadows, a feigned piety.
Wrong like acid dissolves love complete,
and what remains is just
a weeping tainted residue,
a sapless life of heart crushed conceit,
thrown into the fires of reckless abandonment,
to cleanse the sins long due,
when hearts enact in selfish hues.
My aching heart does echo deep
my loss of scruples, my indiscreet philandering,
and all for what, a momentary bliss,
a last kiss that sealed my fate,
and heart now lost to dire state,
the pain a lingering tide
that washed away my once true love.
That aching heart of no relent,
now steals my will and for love sweet scent,
I would give it all, imbibe,
to sate what heart would open wide
to a crusty libertine, who knows
full well the the folly of lacks moments,
driven by a wanton ache.
Tony DeLorger © 2018
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