I have no recourse, but to hear the break,
As personality comes, soon or late,
No matter the error trust and Love make,
Reality is the stronghold of fate.

Romanticism drowns in cracks of time,
And sanity prevails like a wart;
It is perhaps no fault of yours or mine,
Breaks just happen to the thinking sort.

Age gaps and family and wounds and sense
Creep up like four ganks in an online game;
So then, we weep with a lack of pretence;
Because we suddenly know who to blame.

And all we want from what’s left of this hope
Is a strong support and some length of rope.

A Lover of the Night

I couldn’t write
On betrayal,
Or the fact
That I keep clinging
To hope
That keeps bringing
Self esteem to nought.
I have no hope,
In this bed I sleep in,
Nor in these arms
That are weak
With four decades
Of writing,
Nor in this mind
That is frayed with thought
And anxiety,
Nor in this heart
That has been broken
Like countless others.
I have nothing
To offer tomorrow.
Nothing I can see
That allows me
A breath and a smile.
Every one is tainted
With sorrow or guile.
I have no faith
And I know my fate;
So, in both matters,
Hope stands no chance.
Tell me why,
I must bear another day
To the same fight,
When I have always been
A lover of the night?


I don’t want to waste time,
On insensitivity,
Or on a so-called friend;
memories turn bitter and sour,
As disgust takes over in the end.

I can only look to myself,
For I gave myself again,
To those who chose to hate
And bestowed only pain.

Maybe I am not to blame,
I am not the one in the wrong,
I cannot change the rules of the game,
Just to make myself strong.

I know enough of love by now,
Of how quick it can break,
Under the pressure of fame,
Or the balance of give and take.

Yes, I am not the one to blame,
For opening my heart and home,
To anyone who betrays both.

I regret my heart,
I regret its feeling,
I fear it, itself,
Prevents its own healing.

I am dumb like a tree,
That shelters and cannot stop
The ax that ultimately,
And unequivocally,
Shall make it drop.