Victim or Hypocrite

By Bud Koenemund

For "Her."

The ardor of my affection was pure
And true, but died slowly; pining away
In vain; enraptured by one insecure.
Now, time has granted freedom from thy sway;
Oaths once clad in shining armor rusted
Unseen, weakened by the rain of deceit
Drizzling off a tongue this fool trusted –
Cursing my heart to live on incomplete.
In faith, I know not if I stand victim
Or hypocrite – though I admit unwise –
For through the years I swore a love undimmed,
While neglect changed my promises to lies.
   Piety I thought immortal is dead,
   Leaving mind and sense tragically unwed.

Malice Aforethought

By Bud Koenemund

For "Her."

Oh, what delight you must’ve taken each
Time you returned to strip my soul anew;
Dangling your heart ever beyond my reach,
While I, blind in love, couldn’t see the clues
Which might, perhaps, have spared me the malice
Swirling about your breast like a maelstrom;
Spewing words sharp as daggers, and callous
Deeds intended to leave sanity numb,
Even as I pledged renewed devotion.
But, the years of pain have taught a lesson,
Lifting thy enchantment – a curse broken –
And passion faded like mist in the sun.
   I won’t claim affection turned enmity;
   Rather, your spite has engendered pity.

Deceit and Pity

By Bud Koenemund

For "Her."

Once upon a time, I would have given
My last breath to hear you whisper my name
In love; the balm healing a soul riven;
Reciprocation of passion untamed.
But, your deceit ruined affection, and
To thy mem’ry I am no longer bound.
Your occasional communiqués can
Only be efforts to re-open wounds –
And that Siren song is now powerless.
Although attempts to tear at sanity
Persist, their effect is rendered harmless;
Inspiring nothing more than pity.
   Henceforth, I’ll never take thy word as truth,
   For ‘gainst your deceptions my heart is proofed.

The Grapes of Wrack

By Bud Koenemund

For "Her."

As fruit unplucked will wither on the vine –
Abandoned to burn in a sun of shame,
Then fester and fall – an untasted wine,
So can love denied rot the heart, and maim
A soul. Neglect will corrupt affection,
Provoking a disease incurable;
Leaving all blackened by the infection
Of doubt – oft’ leading to an unstable
Mind. But, though ruined, crops can rise again,
Or serve to fertilize fields left fallow;
The passage of time can mitigate pain,
Allowing ripened spirits to mellow.
   When passion lies wracked in shadows of gloom,
   It will seek out light to renew its bloom.