Love: 1998 - 2016 (Part VI: Freedom)

By Bud Koenemund

For "Her."

Shall a heart incandescent with love be

Consumed by hate? Must one choke the other –

Torment equaling passion’s quantity –

‘Til embers of desire are smothered;

Expiring sans wisp, ash, smoke, or rack –

Token corporeal to signify

Its extinction? Ignored, fervor turns black,

Eclipsing all that light once beautified.

Respect died in a doppelganger’s eye;

Could I not see myself mirrored in him?

Recalling what might have been magnified

My grief, but catharsis yielded freedom.

   Two decades lost can never be regained,

   Though affection lives again unconstrained.

Love: 1998 - 2016 (Part V: Repentance)

By Bud Koenemund

For "Her."

Oh, Lady; I believed, and so oft’ swore

My passion, like the stars, would never cool –

Thy heart held in mine, forever adored.

Alas, love, once more, has proved me a fool.

These words have grown repetitive; complaints

Monotonous – despite intention pure –

And fervor neglected has finally waned,

For you could not be mine as I was yours.

The offense lies tattooed upon my soul –

Indelible, and irredeemable –

As life, it seems, demands a monstrous toll;

Leaving voice censured, and mind unstable.

   I do at last repent that affection;

   Praying some power will grant redemption.

Love: 1998 - 2016 (Part IV: Language Lesson)

By Bud Koenemund

For "Her."

‘Twas a muse who rendered my words useless;

Those I believed most sacred impotent

‘Fore her indifference, and each success

Tainted by reality: a heart rent;

Left without the one thing it desires;

Unable to woo, and incapable

Of forgetting; left burning in fires

Stoked by my own hand – inescapable

Torment. The pen, they say, wields more power

Than a sword, but passionate language pales

Compared to self-doubt, and fortune lours

O’er my naiveté as love lies veiled.

   The scars of this lesson may never heal;

   Wounds remaining forever uncongealed.

Love: 1998 - 2016 (Part III: Insufficiency)

By Bud Koenemund

For "Her."

In truth, Muse, I dread thy inspiration;

The mid-night whisperings that tease my ear,

Once more igniting flames of obsession –

A passion undiminished despite years

Neglected; left smoldering and alone.

I must confess, ‘tis not thy tongue I fear,

And rather should embrace the songs you’ve sown –

Sacred melodies I alone can hear –

But, shame lives in my insufficiency:

Knowing mere words are unequal to your

Grace, and their praise oft’ falls short lyrically.

For this sin, thy pardon I do implore.

   These rhymes – unworthy of the page they stain –

   Serve as reminders of love never gained.

Love: 1998 - 2016 (Part II: She Was...)

By Bud Koenemund

For "Her."

The being who made me invincible,

Yet somehow retained power to destroy

My soul. A spirit irresistible

To mine, her indulgence became my joy.

A muse who inspired so many words;

With eyes that stole my breath, leaving silence.

Alpha and omega – creating worlds

In the mind, even while corrupting sense.

That living Venus; goddess who revealed

The heavens to which emotion can soar,

And self-doubt creating a battlefield

Within my heart – conflicting love and war.

   If it be obsession, I’ll not defend;

   She lives forever: beginning and end.

Love: 1998 - 2016 (Part I: Madness)

By Bud Koenemund

For "Her."

I do protest my zeal was not madness –

Distemper brought about by attraction.

In truth, I knew no way to love you less,

And rendered unreserv’d devotion.

The falling – fault confirmed, beyond mending –

Served to resurrect a spirit undone;

Some magic kindling passion contending

‘Gainst the fire of twenty thousand suns.

But, weakness infected that desire;

Yearning for all, corrupted everything;

Fervor becoming fuel for a pyre

Reducing adoration to mourning.

   How oft’ can I offer you these same lines,

   Before both heart and intellect resign?

Mediocre White Male Poet Entitlement

By Bud Koenemund

For Shaindel Beers

Peril awaits mediocre white males –

Objection breeds cries of entitlement.

Trapped betwixt love and refusal they flail –

In quicksand, struggle speeds envelopment.

Risk and uncertainty oft’ herald pain;

Attraction devolving in enmity.

Wounded, “nice guys” lash out, although they feign

Indifference, voicing their misery.

Sadly, it appears fantasy is dead,

And life doesn’t end like a fairy tale –

No Beauty transforming this Beast. Instead

Happily ever after remains veiled.

   Words diminish, vanishing in chatter;

   E’en as we protest: all poets matter!