I succumb to the allusion of my volunteered confusion
Friend or lover?
Guilty of loving her
Hung on a cross
A fine line to cross
It will always be her loss
It will always be my loss
Like a rolling stone that will not collect moss
Unburdened by the ways of the heart
Free to dismiss
Free from the pleasure of a kiss
From the outside in how couldn’t she resist?
Painfully obvious
Sinfully simple
A boy who refuses to comprehend
Capable, yet seeing it to the end
Willingly suffering
Sufferingly willing
A dull drill that keeps drilling
Shattering hope
The numbing effect of dope
Persistent in the face of resistance
Romantic despite idealism
Where is the origin of such a curse?
Haunted by the image of a man on the cross– never appearing in church
Only in plain sight does he erode
A heart exponentially beating till it explodes
A love like music without notes
Harmony in the midst of chaos
A symphony of exhausted repetition
Only to be slowed by a petition
From the world because it’s seen enough
Sick of the senility
No longer amused by the evasion of reality
Face the facts
He never could
Or maybe just never would
Like hammering a nail to wood
Until he is out of breath
Perhaps then the conclusion of the quarrelsome organ in his chest
From the beginning it was never like the rest
It needed to be heard
Ignored the telltale signs of even bold words
A lifetime infected by the snooze button
Never asleep, never awake, always one breath from losing something
Holding onto too much
Lacking a reflection to witness such blush
Born with too much blood to gush
How is that all he sought and lacked was her touch?
Desperately committed
For far less things men have been committed
Beyond an Achilles heel that needs to be admitted
If this isn’t proof then there is none
Starring down the barrel of a gun
Love or loss
A fine line to cross
A rolling stone without moss
A tear without moisture
Heart, without a beat
Only when stars aligned could be blessed to meet
Yet here I am
Time and time again
It is fact; my romantic madness has no end
A painful inability to comprehend godsend
Because without experience there is only delirious
Certainly a man should be weary of this
But I am that man
And he is me
Come tomorrow I know not where he will be
Yet I am willing and waiting to see
Like an inmate behind bars with the option to be free.
Kevin Alan Lamb 