The words you said stayed.
They echoed like an eighties movie moment,
Now tinnitant, except for when they rear,
Repeating, though receding, always near.
And for their fatal message, just a tear,
Drop solit’ry of undisguised emotion,
That none have seen for far too many years.
Perhaps that was the problem?
Gods, what I wouldn’t give to change,
The torrid path of history, Escape that tragic day,
Deny the crossing of our stars and Destiny’s decisive mastery.
But all too often it’s Euripides who brings us Truth:
The blazing, harsh, relentless torch of Real,
That chases out the shades of reverie,
And leaves me twice, and thrice, and still once more,
Somewhere, in long ages past, an idea came to be,
That men are hunters, warriors, with hearts of tempered steel.
Perhaps I am the flaw that lets the rest of life endure,
For as I am, the fairer sex’s graces long witheld,
Bereft of company, retreating deeper in my shell,
I wither, and I dwindle, though my grieving’s long since done,
So tired of being single, I’m the sky without a sun.
Suicide has been considered,
I chose to do it slow,
With intra-Venus Dream-Sand,
She’s my silent, warming mistress,
But she has been known to kill.
What would you do if your love was ripped away against your will?
The last hope then, A final roll of Fortune’s loaded dice:
Is there someone there to save me from myself,
Or is it Poppy I was truly meant to wed,
To walk the shrouded aisle to gates beyond,
Where there is never any pain?
Optimism bleeds dry…