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.
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