He loves more than he is loved
And so the scales of his life,
Are out of balance.
He is confronted with heartbreak,
At only seventeen,
And the world seems bleak and unaffectionate.
I imagine he traces a finger,
Over the bumpy landscape of his thigh,
And exhales with exasperation.
Because the one who touched his heart,
Accidently played with fire,
And left it smouldering for somebody else to extinguish.
And so he takes the brunt of it all,
Like an old Syracusan legend,
Except Pythias does not return.
The world is tinged with an olive complexion.
As it is taken for granted,
The depth of his love once welcomed.
To be rejected, cast aside and undesired,
Alone once more,
With too much contemplation to remain pleased with the world.
The vices of his relief seem inadequate now,
As he contemplates upon his own life;
To weigh optimism above despair?
But we make eye-contact,
And he smiles,
As a foolish sort of hope tips the scale.
---
Dear friend,
Your name is in this poem, imbedded in a crucial way, because I wrote it for you. We balance each other seamlessly, and we have only the future to plunder into now. It's so bright that it hurts.
May we spend our adulthood laying on the cool grass under the stars,
- T
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Poems and Other Shit
PoetryA collection of poems, short stories and journal entries about finding myself in a whirlwind environment of heartache, heart break and rejection. Some are creative, most are true and very real. Each entry reflects something deep, personal and raw...
