Always Outside Looking In

Always Outside Looking In …

always outside looking in


This tale merits the reader’s realm, this writing while I’m at the helm,

I’ll soon be overcome with bane, these lovelorn fits can overwhelm

My heart is weak, a beclouded husk, I write in fog, to compel the dusk

My soul entrapped on Lover’s Lane, this ill-lit street of rue and musk


My hope of hope, a desperate ruse, abandoned soul, my wretched muse

My pliant heart led far astray, a summoned drunk of wine and booze

The crossroads, where the devil laughs, his summons made on my behalf.

My house of cards again, collapsed, my name ascribed to epitaphs


Such epitaphs of starless dark, the pursuit of love a quest embarked

My mind amiss, such bad mistakes, and ardor’s scene is growing stark.

I’ll share the fragments of my soul, a tragedy, a doleful stroll

Her lack of roles, the scene is set, my world her chancing heart controls.


Her curvy thighs were not beseeched; her hands so soft, were out of reach

my throbbing pulse, her fervent hold, her heart unto another’s speech

A still whir where disaster struck, the painful pangs of hammer’s(heartbeat’s) buck

I yearned for some cathartic tools, to shelve my heart from dreadful luck


My life is lived with eyelids closed, to ask for what I should forbid

This stress an albatross of love, my fervor like a dead orchid.

Do I tell my dreams, I can’t bestow, these hungers that I wish to know?

Temptation’s damsel must stay put, between my weary, rhythmic throes.


In miles I’ve trekked, this rigmarole, her haven for my craving soul,

My heart misled with subterfuge, in earnest caught, a vacant hole.

I’ve had my reps of furor’s pain, the plagues of joy, the messy blames

Such wonted roles, as lover’s stooge, a victim to her blade of bane


Alone I need the walls to grow, to open up and keep me whole.

To free me, posing interlude, to save me from this grievous blow

Decays of solitude, my sheath, unearthed to grow, what lies beneath

an outer skin, a dermis strong, but life has ways of playing thief


What lies upon this loam of clay, a flame unto a lover’s sway

Illusion’s ace, with wand in hand, a conjured spell, I wish to play

But like a statue’s steadfast mold, remorse is dense, the aches twofold

My empty shell, a stillborn soul, desire’s glass, a fool’s new gold?


A withered rose, a sullied pot, the sun’s neglect, the lover’s plot,

The dirt is tamped the tombstone blank, the weeds compel to earshot

The heart cage walls, rife with fractures, pockmarks from the coming rapture

A Pensive verse of “I Love You,” perhaps the plague that love can capture


A swift demise, the final bloom the garden rose is then entombed

The rosebud desperate, like my heart, incurs her apathetic gloom.

Recurrence haunts with each foray, my heart valves spattered on display

Defining madness, I still expect, that love will play another day.


The Death of memory next sprung, from sentiments of lethargy.

Her lax exchange, a hefty bung, inurns a scar of elegy

This fictive playact haunts my mind, her absent love bemocks as blind

As leaves are strewn in whisps of dust, her love-slain eyes are disinclined.


My pen is bound by blackened tint, my mind is numbed, her cold imprints

so unaware about her ways, these fires unlit would love her flint.

A beaten heart, this worthless face, one good to nurse a fool’s disgrace,

perhaps the purging of this love, means I could break this fool’s embrace…


For more works like ‘Always Outside Looking In’ by this author see Paul Neglia on The Creative Exiles.

You can also see more great work by Paul Neglia on HubPages.

Paul Neglia
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Paul Neglia

Proud father of 3. Part time writer of poetry and short stories. I want to paint the world in but a few words.

6 thoughts on “Always Outside Looking In

  • June 12, 2022 at 2:49 PM

    Thank you so much Phyllis. I’ve taken a liking to writing these sad and desolate poems. I don’t know why. I’m glad you liked it. Appreciate the comments.

    • June 14, 2022 at 6:10 AM

      Well I’m glad I used that word then. Lol. Thank you for the kind words Jamie.

  • June 27, 2022 at 4:44 PM

    I agree with what Jamie mentioned…great usage of the word: “Rigamarole”. It is a word that just doesn’t get used enough in writings. I have to admit that I had to go back and read one this twice. This line: “My house of cards again, collapsed, my name ascribed to epitaphs”…made me stop and ponder and even get a dictionary out to make sure I was getting ascribed and epitaph right in my perception. This poem is a work of word Art! Sad…yet taking the reader along with every word combination. Like a Right-Left jab…Boom! The words come together. They take us along…for better or worse through these word combinations…as they describe: “Death of Memory” and “the final garden” and ‘her cold imprints”. Whoa…Great Wording through out this one!

    • June 27, 2022 at 5:02 PM

      I’m glad you enjoyed it Steve. I like to challenge myself with somewhat tricky word combinations and also to find rarely used words and attempt to use them. Appreciate the time and great comments you gave.~Paul

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