I am a writer. Therefore, I am not sane. -Edgar Allan Poe
I want so much to feel
To see what you have seen
The life that now seem so unreal
Oh what could have been
Your words were tender
Your words were fierce
The words you would reneder
The heart you could pierce
Emily my cousin
Several times removed
We are joined by crimson
Even if unproved
Your words echo in me
Your writing in my veins
I know that you can see in me
You are what remains
-BW’24
Dating in your 40s
Why is it so hard?
No magically falling in love
As written by the Bard
Too mature and done
With meeting at the bars
Having now to deal with
One another’s scars
What is it that one
Is looking for
Someone who gives you that look
That you’re the one they adore
A man with children
That you will love
A family that
Fits you like a glove
No one who has
Too much drama with their ex
Someone who isn’t
Just looking for sex
Someone who genuinely
Has no doubt
About getting to know
What you are really about
Can you match
With who I am
Will you get to know me
Will you give a damn
I am
A newly opened bistro
My menu offers two options
Hope with a side of love
And life with a side of adventure
All are welcome
No shoes, no shirt
Who cares
Just check your limitations
At the door
Dissipating fog
The sky illuminated
Hope was infinitely hers
Carrying her sadness like a totem
Believing it was her only truth
Until its power was gone
–
Lost and confused
Needing a new image to embrace
A personification of a new truth
–
Unearthed, in spite of adversity,
A symbol of strength and hope
Her true identity
The timing is right
Clock strikes midnight
Hearts are aflame
All is fair game
Feeling everything
A curse or gift?
Empathy uncontrolled
Fatigue engulfs
Isolation to cease the torment
Compassion fades
Corruption wins
A regulated soul
Deterring the vampires of spirit
Fills the world with love
Extinguishing the flames
Of a callous society
A bolt of lightning
Has awoken me from
The nightmare of despair
Cloudy days
And nights without stars
No longer remain
In my illuminated mind
Turning forty (oh so old)
Some may even say vintage
–
Like songs of my youth
Now playing on classic radio stations
–
Like playing outside all day
Occasionally into the night
–
Like going to school
With only the worries of failing a test
–
Like having peers from Mexico
Unafraid to go to school in America
–
Like presuming the world
Is a safe place to live
–
Being in one’s prime
No longer seems a malediction
But a culmination
Of wondrous experiences
A ruse
To abuse
The muse
Lighting her fuse
So as not to lose
The good reviews
Left on Yahoo!(s)
(Just a little silliness for your Friday)
B.A. Wilcox © 