Your stellar, noble, marvelous lady

-


I just hope that you who was born a lonely child,

will not die a lonelier man.

The ache in your gaze shifts, but never fades.

I cannot bear to see it,

I must walk on.


I am blind to the bourgeoisie fantasy of it all.

One house upstate, one tall roof off which to fall.

It is your own twisted, untoward way.

(One) The wine glass shattering into your organs.

(Two) Surgery that will cost you a fortune.


I would be the one,

to teach you how to walk again.

(One) "Follow my footsteps", (two) "imitate my fall";

its okay to scrape both your knees, I will not let them scar at all.


Sure, this circling around the talk of the matter

keeps it veritable indeed.

but we live in what, but an awry lodging,

where each day makes us nothing but new and newer.


We wind up being two parallel lines on a plane,

stretching ourselves in all directions- we try to collide

-it never happens. 

So we walk,

emancipated now, into the dawn.


I just hoped that you who was born a lonely child,

would not have died a lonelier man.

The ache in your gaze shifted, but never did it fade.

I couldn't bear to see it,

I walked on.




I don't know why I wrote a poem about a failing marriage- cut me some slack with this one because it comes from a place of (fortunately) no experience.


Picture Credits (Pinterest)

 

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