A Pocketful of Poesy was and is again a Poem-a-Day(-on-Average) Blog! For 2009, 2010, 2011, 2012, and now for 2017 and going forward, you may expect to see 365 poems every year, 366 for leap years.

but aren't they all random?

Sunday, October 29, 2023

Differences between agony

The course of love, true,
never did run true enough,
didn't it. Deep! -  or did it?
Well, in this case, (ours)
(or: once was): true, it did.

But hindsight is perfectly
20/20, 180 and 360 degrees
awful considering how untrue
some of what I said did, and
what you thought didn't do,
and of course (naturally)
in the interlap between 
the two, where we lapped 
each other's wounds 
and bound them to
a point even more 
wound-up, twisted 
and inflicted, so we 
leaped back and kissed 
hurt itself; we soothed each
other half to death and as usual 

did not make up,
since up
cannot truly be made. Up
is a relative value with no
real
direction
except where both stand
on some same ground
and agree to crane
their necks, perchance
to see, or reach their arms,
perchance to interleave fingers
or leave hands be? Clasped, 
or just touched by tips 

However it was, how it is:
"we" end up drifted apart
for  
you see 
we never address 
the fundamental, 
troublematic 
point! Do

we?
One or both of us sadly
doesn't even know
/couldn't say what it
is.
/was. So,
under such
dire conditions
as those, how could
we expect love to conquer 
anyone?

Let alone all, 
let alone 

you.
Me. Either. Or both, or 
ideally - each? Trust me, 
we were always in reach. 
Us. You know that now, I see
you see I know that now, too.
"Us": was always right here, 
right now, and now 

we know that for a fact, 
and so,
it hurts more than ever 

how. 
Will you go? 

How will you go? 
Drive through the wind 
and the rain, again. 

Cover it up. Cover it 
up. There's no more 
to see your direction, 
my end, your steady 
shine and everlasting 
bend. There's no song 
left to steal, not to seal 
this deal over and over 
again. For real,
or not for real: 

I am. 
So are you. 

So we were. 

So true. 

Past tense is one hell
of a drug, if you can't take
it anymore. And heedless 
of hope, regardless of all belief: 

you can't.
You can't take that 
away from we, for neither 
can I. As we both now see

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