to myself i was special,

but to the world i was piffle,

there lay the contradiction

to me i was holding centerstage, basking in the limelight,

to the world, i was an extra in the background,

there lay the contradiction,

to me, i could and deserved glorious love,

to the world, a strangeness shrowded me best avoided,

there lay the contradiction

to me, i was delivering glorious speeches to ringing ovation,

to the world, i was part of the faceless audience,

there lay the contradiction

no embrace of the intimacy of Two,
under the blanket,
endless whispered conversations,
the strange comfort of togetherness,
like rain beating rhythmically on a tin roof,
no entwined warm thighs,
or adjusting yourself in their crevasses,
nose nuzzling neck, responsive skin, so fragrant.
arm slung over, pulling them closer,
heave matching heave, hearts beating in rhythm,
harder than they usually do,
with the feeling of, un-tampered gladness,
no playing with hair, not your own,
no looking at them long as they sleep,
breathing gently, a life more dear than your own,
and sighing deeper than you have ever known,
no delicate lips meeting, lighting up your core,
an existence, that never really did soar,
no eyes with true concern, pained by your pain,
no fights,
not even makeups, let alone tears,

only hair that slowly went from black to grey,
and much of which fell away,
cheeks once firm which started to sag,
each eye, now accompanied with a bag,
the prized six pack, now a sack,
the mirror which sometimes evoked hope -
“they cant resist you indefinitely, you’re not that bad”
now tells a story, not too savory, -
“too late buddy, you shoulda taken the chance you had”

and a mood which grew increasingly irritable,
and poems which became increasingly bitter

love is insanity, love is passion,
love is living a dream,
everyday reason cast away,
wisdom another day,
love is waking from a slumber,
it is a rush, it is a charge,
all shells cracked, all masks torn,
all pretense of balance shorn,
the polite laughs, stock market discussions.
replaced by grand professions, desperate implorations,
love is cry, love is claw,
ever, forever, never, the language of love,
a risk ridden investment,
all invested.
 
but i wasn’t mad enough,
the encasing too hard,
formed over years,
not that i didn’t feel,
true and deep,
but not all can play,
the game of love.

Oh weary traveler, rest awhile,
breathe deep, stop and savor the sweet fragrance,
that lies heavy, ripe, in the forest air,
of the thick foliage, mingled with the wet earth,
and especially the lovely Lilacs, which bloom in glory,
relish it while you can,
because the scent although yours to savor, is never yours to own,

dance, play, feel alive! in the wash of the refreshing cool wind,
which snakes through the trees, carrying autumn leaves in merry circles,
ruffles and muffs your hair, teases every inch of your tired skin,
dance while you can,
because carefree and wild is the breeze,
try to embrace it,
and it blows right through,

bathe in the gurgling brook,
which winds through the woods, filling them with its rhythmic song,
oh the shocking joy of the first touch of cold water!
but try to grasp it in your hand,
and it trickles through your fingers,
the wet of your palm,
a remembrance of its soothing touch,

Lull yourself to a peaceful sleep,
and dream dreams, of what could have been,
because when morning breaks,
all the castles of your thought,
break against reality, and fade into smoke,

all that is yours, o traveler,
is to spend solitary evenings,
writing idyllic poems,
about the one who got away

and one day, you too shall pass on.

your eyes are the many hued evening sky
serene, soft, ever changing
or the diamond studded night sky
twinkling, playful, joyous