Confessions of Likelyhood

Lover in the Rye

Illusions of bliss, realities of consciousness,
submersed beneath SUPER ID,
between Ego and the love often hid
within crevices of jealously, envy, apathy,
frequently claimed to never exist within self,
usually shelved somewhere near stratosphere,
those forced to outer limits rarely
wipe away trauma tears,
remove shallow fears seeming to possess depth
liken to imploding stars,
collapsing hearts, arguments gone too far,
to the point of return, but never achieved,
which is probably why we believe in the l
ikelihood of love and the finality of love lost,
so much that seldom is the journey
trod to achieve love appreciated…

Taken for granted,
emotions of Eros close enough to smell,
taste, touch and hear, but never enough to see,
expand the man within
the woman without
enough to remove doubt,
enough for her to wave flags of surrender,
reveal badges of dishonor caused by a man’s
assaulting brigade,
a rainy days parade over a lifetime
has the tendency to drown
the soul beneath a love gone sour cascade,
no longer is a bed made with roses,
few thorns a peaceful place to lay…

Can you see the passion fade?

A battered sign hanging
from the empty heart reads,
“Where love used to stay,” but no longer,
too tore from the fray,
too much time passed between,
the reaction to the reaction and the delay of love
under appreciated…

Shallow love whole,
replaced with all that glitters is golden,
reach for the remaining glimmer
of heat in darkness laying within, frozen,
a mere flicker,
thicker than skin of a scorned love born,
not the norm,
however not free-formed as breath blown,
shackled by memories of when love was appreciated,
seldom directly related to nights of passionate
love-making, then digression,
to every now and then inadequate quality time spent,
to was best friend,
to was least friend,
to was what it used to be way back when,
then the joys of interaction now gone, replaced,
with good taste gone astray,
gone to play,
but never to work as hard as they once did
when you were just another face,
long gone so much you now fight
to keep focus on praying for the passing of the night,
focus on the coming of the light,
while ironically attempting to focus on how your
never-dying love has reduced itself to a mere like,
no longer needing appreciation…