posthumous

23.7.00 *** 11:33

.

there are those who never live to see

their brush with immortality

who sadly pass into the night

not having whet an appetite

.

when what they felt and what they thought

was just as grand and twice as wrought

as anything i ever said

(oh–how much more stay in my head!)

.

but that is just a poor excuse

from one who tampered with the muse

who living yet will rue the day

she scares another muse away

.

though they will gather once again

(and g~d alone knows how or when)

at last to lay my soul to rest 

no longer by the lord possessed

.

considering themselves as scorned

as if they weren’t duly warned

as if the fickleness of fate

a habit she acquired late

.

and they will rage and they will keen

rememb’ring how they’d been so mean

surrounded now by what they lack

the memories that won’t come back

.

of quiet winter afternoons

and showing her the brightest moons

assuring her that none but i

would ever be her butterfly

.

of naughty spring-tide sabbath naps

her stupid weather~channel cap

the hair that she refused to grow

excepting in her down~below

.

it felt so easy to betray

we justified our reasons

sometimes love works out that way

in cycles like the seasons

.

it felt so good to let her go

such a heavy burden!

sometimes love’s a rodeo

sometimes you bring the herd in

.

then suddenly they will recall

occasions of the hero’s fall

and cease forevermore to pine

for what was dark and labyrinthine

.

a madness lurking in her mind

the crazy mixing with the kind

a tendency for dropping by 

bear-ing fresh~baked apple pie

.

the nagging duties of a friend

whose obligations never end

to one who seems a little stranger

spewing mis~directed anger

.

a passion frivolously spent

by one who cannot pay the rent

so easier to rationalize

a pair of lusty, wand’ring eyes

.

it felt so easy to pretend

we never knew what hit us

sometimes love comes to an end

and sometimes it’s posthumous

.

it felt so good to finally see 

we shouted from the rafters

“despite the heart’s mortality–

her love is ever~after!”

.

so, happy thoughts at last prevail

such as when i began this tale

and they to other lives have gone

while i have learned to live alone

.

for i have had occasion too

to rise above the love of you

the forces i can’t understand

that gently take me by the hand

.

a dance for two, a private floor

an innocence i knew before

of never guessing she’d deny

i’d ever been her butterfly

.

a funny mask, a phony name

the turning back upon her shame

the lying bitch, the selfish cunt 

the hunted cheering on the hunt

.

it felt so easy to concede 

(i find it most dis~tressing)

sometimes love can make you bleed 

and sometimes it’s a blessing

.

it felt so good to realise

(i can’t believe it took so long)

sometimes love burns out and dies

and sometimes it lives on

.

***** (inspired by the life and work of george gordon, lord byron)