The Proof

A blackness opens
To my eyes
And spirals me down
To cupid’s demise.

Backward, stumbling to
Find the way
And change the world.
I want to say.

For I’ve held myself with
A loneliness;
Gave my soul and verse
To thanklessness

Tasted the lips of
Invisible love;
Seen the lamp blind
Me from above.

When will there be that
Familiar pain?
Will the sun ever savor
Innocence again?

And again,
I ask does it matter
That my heart has not yet
Begun to shatter?

When I reflect to a hollow room.

A time will come for
Noble resistance.
A battle wages only
For indifference.

A time to see
A face in the mirror
And ask,
Do I need
A shave today
Or take a chance
And let it stay?

For I have (too much)
lived by words both
Strong and dead;
Gave up hope with
J. Alfred,

And wondered

If I take this
Love,
Will the heavens above
Open up with sky
Blue rain?
Will the world care when
I’m in pain?

Or go about
Just the same?

For I know how
Wilting dreams slowly die.
I’ve had cause for
An indifferent cry,

(in time, of course)

I have seen the truth
Come, each to each.
I have seen the truth
Eat my peach,

Flattered hope until
The end,
Had love thrown back and been
Called a friend,

Awoke each morning
With a cup of tea
And made a habit out
Of apathy.

Patience is bitter, but its fruit is sweet.
--Jean Jacques Rousseau.