No More Desire for Light

By Bud Koenemund

I know one way to express devotion:
Offering my entire heart and soul –
Withholding nothing; risking emotion
Perilous; braving passion uncontrolled
By intellect. And, the cost has become
Too dear as torment strips vitality,
Inducing me to wish all feeling numbed –
Surrender slouching toward finality.
In truth, love has caused me nothing but pain.
Though, I doubt any revelation
Of zeal could bring joy when such unrestrained
Affection only invited destruction.
   I will feign no more desire for light;
   Leaving my soul abandoned and blighted.

Fire Cannot Feed Upon Itself

By Bud Koenemund

With apologies to Galway Kinnell

Fire cannot feed upon itself. Lacking
Fuel to sustain, it will suffocate;
Dying away – light dwindling toward black –
As flames, once furious, quickly abate.
To make it burn, I threw my whole self in;
Sacrificing pride; nourishing our spark;
Then realized I could never kindle
Passion matching mine; that knowledge a stark
Reminder of the wasteland devotion
Leaves behind – solitude seared in my soul;
Scorched by incendiary emotion,
While embers, neglected too oft’, grow cold.
   The love extinguished cannot be renewed;
   Yet, memory smolders with thoughts of you.

The Modern Prometheus

By Bud Koenemund

For "Her."

What a fool I was to think you my muse!

Believing any mortal could possess

Such grace – a goddess divine; of virtue

Celestial, and spirit unsuppressed.

I swore by your imagined perfection;

Seeking to prove devotion with sonnets

Forged in the fever of self-delusion –

Earning instead shame I fear infinite.

And, like the modern Prometheus, ‘twas

Inevitable this creation would

Destroy my mind, leaving me to puzzle

O’er that emotion most misunderstood.

   Despite defect, my passion was no lie;

   But, love neglected will wither and die.

Passion as Penance

By Bud Koenemund

For "Her."

Is inspiration truly worth my soul?

Enduring an eternity of pain

In exchange for rhymes which cannot console

A poet who pursues his muse in vain?

I wish, Dark Lady, I could say you are

Dead to me. Utter the words – and mean them –

As if my will would extinguish a star.

But, your light blazes, and lost love condemns

The mind; infecting slumber with visions

Of thy face; deceiving every sense;

Permitting the devil visitation:

An ambush sans corporeal presence.

   Your mem’ry lives, arousing emotion:

   Passion as penance to seed creation.

Thesaurize

By Bud Koenemund

Thesaurize: (verb) To think or believe a word means, or is synonymous with, something it does not or is not. Often used when referring to another person in a derogatory manner.

You were too fucking stupid to see you were getting what you want.

I was falling in love with you. – "Her."

I once believed love meant everything;

A yearning beyond real definition;

Passion built on devotion; cherishing

Another soul; becoming a bastion

'Gainst each defeat, and partner in the climb

Toward bliss. I would give all I am to feel

The momentary touch of such sublime

Emotion, offered with joy unconcealed.

But, you have schooled me in affection's new

Meaning: Indifference toward one who adores;

Evasion; leading sanity askew

When you speak of love, while in deed abhor.

   'Tis certain you're right; I'm a man 'twas blind;

   In consequence, my heart betrayed my mind.

Had I the Power to Stop Loving Thee

For "Her."

Had I the power to stop loving thee,
Do you believe I would remain enslaved;
Condemned to pay a Sisyphean fee
For a creature who has ever depraved
Affection? Could I simply exile my
Sanity to a world of pain; breeding
Madness within emotion gone awry?
Or, yield my heart's final beat; conceding,
At long last, a battle lost years ago?
Though I fear torment, my passion endures,
And, despite discontent, I'll never bow;
Only, endeavour to prove this love pure.
   As a soul lives beyond the mortal breath,
   So too will my devotion outlast death.

Doubt Not Thy Face Will Feel the Sun Again

For TK

Doubt not thy face will feel the sun again,
And bask in the warmth of love's majesty.
Like a flower reaching up toward Heaven's
Light, you'll grow strong despite this malady.
The fragments of your heart, too oft' broken,
Shall heal once more by the physic of time;
A spring will soften what is now frozen,
To seek anew that emotion sublime.
Though my well-meant words cannot ease thy pain,
Nor dispel the gloom found in the abyss
Of memory, know this darkness shall wane,
For melancholy can brighten to bliss.
   I pray divine power will grant thee rest,
   As peace floods the sacristy of thy breast.

A Simple Word Too Easily Said

For Kristen Brownell

Lord, how can so small a word cause such pain?
Indeed, the gift becomes too abstract when
Words, easily said, fall like drops of rain
On the ocean, and fool even wise men;
Oh, how the promises the heart believes,
When it dares to hope, break upon the rocks
Of high speech – but feelings only conceived –
Then sink down into the depths of self-mock;
Verses and oaths so quickly lose their worth
When once solemn pledges become dilute
Through casual repetition and dearth
Of the emotion real and absolute.
Even sweet words, spoke too oft’, turn sour,
And kill the root of this precious flower.