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Who Will I? A niece insulted me yesterday.  Nothing new.  She does it often.  Insult me, that is.  And insult others. No, she is not a bad person.  On the contrary, quite loving.  Or most often so. So, why does she do that?  Insult people she loves, and wants love from? I can think of only one reason.  That she is either too certain of what she believes in.  Or too doubtful. History is full of men who killed others, not in numbers, but in heaps and mounds and mountains.  Only, because they were too certain of themselves.  Opposition had no right to exist, as far as they could tell. Yet others kill so they can convince themselves of the imaginary truth content of their lies.  Lies, hidden, securely locked.  In dark, deserted dungeons! No one is immune.  Mom used to get awfully angry.  About anything and everything.  At anyone and everyone.  Why?  Was it merely in order to get results?  Or in ...

Questions, Questions! Did I lose you because I did not really believe you to be mine? Have I never had anyone, REALLY MINE, because I never believed someone could be really mine? Really anyone's? Should I have taken you for granted? Abused you? Should I have been painful and difficult, like all those who I felt I belonged to? Can we belong only there, where we are not given any choice? Can we belong only there, where we are dominated, or dominate? Where we have no rights, or all the rights? Is liberty all a pile of manure? Are we only of the jungle, or savanna, still? Can we never be equal and still belong to each-other? Or will you always keep finding all possible excuses to deny what you feel for me? Will the brain-washing that our society subjected us to, always count so much for you, that you will never create an inviolable space for me within you? Or come live within mine? Will our connection wither and die as do countless others, simply because the twain are not certain? Or ...

Why Poetry? Why do I write? When do I write? Prose when I want to make my audience understand my point. Poetry when I want to, but know that I cannot make my audience understand my point. Nor get them to give a damn about it. Prose gets me results. Poetry stops me from killing myself. I often wish that I did not write poetry. -

A Question Fret not.  My presence in your life is now no longer than that of a Mayfly in summer.  You will soon find me a bother.  And value me, as one does a vestigial organ. Every man thinks through his penis.  It is not given you to not be a man.  You will too.  No, you do too. No wonder Newton found celibacy his greatest achievement.  Move over gravity, optics, mechanics, calculus. You are not, and I am not Newton.  We go our ways and become irrelevant to each-other. You have your life ahead of you. While I am left wondering why, precisely, must I continue existing. -

I Asked It was I who asked you to let me go, if you could not love me. I, of course, knew you could not. What do I get for this murder/suicide/martyrdom? -

Obituary This is not self-pity. Nor, self-hatred. This is self-grief. I grieve the end of my unrequited love. Which was the sum total of my Self. With you goes, not just my love, but the entirety of my being, my existence. I grieve for myself. For my own passing. -

Deserving Disservice You are a difficult person. And you know that. I am easy. And I know that. You demand service.  Always. I serve.  Always. I am schooled in the necessary art of masochism.  And sadism comes naturally to you. I have no clue how you thought that we are not made for each-other.  Go, perhaps there will be many who will give you the love you deserve. I do not even deserve difficulty! -

Grieve/Celebrate I am invited to a sumptuous dinner. I eat well.  It seems that I enjoyed my dinner.  To others.  For I am good at pretense. Only I know that without you, I can enjoy no dinner.  Without me, do you?  Good for you.  My remaining years are too few to not grieve you.  Yours, too many, to. Go, celebrate. -

Without You Without you life has no meaning. So is it good that you went early.  Or bad? -

You Won You pushed. I pulled. You won. Goodbye. -

Empty       ...Yet Again Another day draws to an end. And the Universe yawns, once again. At my stupidity. Must I always wish to fill my system with passing comets? A short burst of energy, emotion, engagement, enjoyment? But, as ever, the ethereal enchantment goes expeditiously extinct. Again, no more. The devotee is destitute, dead. Again, no more. The love is lost. Again, no more. I lose, again, as always. Alone, again, as always. Empty, again, as always. Left again, alone, with my tears, and my words.  My empty words. Rumi's Shams has again set. The light has again gone out. All that remains is the twilight, the promise of the darkness to come. The demons.  The beasts.  The vampires. The loneliness. Yuck... Who cares anymore. Not even I. I am stupid. I must pay the price.  When will I ever learn? Humen and I are not meant to be. I rue the passing of my comet. But then, perhaps, I am no star. Or perhaps am, but with a tail, myself. Capable only of ...