From Crush to Crushed (Part III): It Ends the Same Way

By Bud Koenemund

I’ve seen this episode before… many
Times. Inevitably, it ends the same way;
Bud fools himself into thinking any
Woman could give a fuck. A display
As pitiful as it is laughable;
Watching this clown blunder ‘gainst his own heart;
Enduring agony while damnable
Madness poisons a spirit torn apart.
Though he knows the risk invites solitude,
He’ll create passionate sonnets, and send
“Good morning, Beautiful” texts, as prelude
To a climax that leaves him unmended.
   While there is holiness in affection,
   Suffering oft’ becomes love’s conclusion.

Blue Eyes Blue

By Bud Koenemund

For K.

I see the sadness hidden in your eyes;

A pain you try to bury, which lurks still;

Nearer the surface than you know; disguised,

Yet visible; lingering ‘gainst thy will.

Heartbreak and loneliness are compounding

Sorrows; breeding doubt; confusing every

Setback with tragedy; poisoning

The soul. But, trust time will dull memory,

Allowing you to heal. Made whole once more;

Emerging stronger; by love enfolded;

The gleam renewed in those sapphire orbs –

Shining like sunlight thawing Winter’s cold.

   My intent is these verses bring delight;

   A smile, if brief, to draw day from night.

Frankenstein

By Bud Koenemund

“I have love in me the likes of which you can scarcely imagine

and rage the likes of which you would not believe.”

– Mary Shelley

There is, too oft’, a war within my mind;

‘Twixt Good and Evil; the Dark Side and Light;

Intellect struggling to resist blind

Ignorance as shadows obscure the right.

Like poison unchecked, discontent infects

My soul, arousing inhumanity;

A monster existing disaffected

Toward empathy, risking insanity.

Why must I continue this conflict ‘gainst

Self, denied solace in another’s hand;

Some being like me to re-kindle sense,

Restore hope, and grant ease from life’s demands?

   Solitude only nourishes my rage,

   And bitterness grows as love dies away.

You Don't Love Me, But You Won't Let Me Go

By Bud Koenemund

For "Her."

Fearing you've returned to hurt me again,
I crumble once more – left wondering what
I've done to deserve the unending pain
You inflict: the indifference which cuts
Through body and soul, infecting my mind
With doubt, and an anger that taints the heart –
Poisoning affection; leaving me blind
To delight, e'en as I seek a new start.
You don't love me, but you won't let me go.
And I, unable to resist, still trust
An illusion, just an idiot's hope,
Someday we'll rebuild passion from the dust.
   Dark Lady, I beg, understand my plea:
   Claim my hand…or forever set me free.

Silence

By Bud Koenemund

For "Her."

Silence does not help temper growing fears –
Avoiding speech serves only to confuse.
I desire to hear thy voice bathe my ears
With truth, although it may once more abuse
A heart battered in the tempests of doubt.
This withholding poisons every thought;
Sickening an affection long devout,
While this fool offers piety for naught.
Love, I beg you, redeem a mind stained black,
And bring an end to this dream-like eclipse
Of despair by granting the thing I lack.
O, claim this soul with a touch of your lips.
   I've borne the torment of limbo, and wish
   To be roused from this nightmare by thy kiss.

Muse No More

By Bud Koenemund

For "Her."

You were the brightest light in a Heaven
Of stars – one whose brilliance outlasted morn.
Thy invention made my garden Eden;
A paradise somehow fashioned of worn
Rhymes. Indeed, so oft' did thoughts of you guide
My pen, the world might presume you poet,
And I mere scrivener. Within thy eyes
Lived all my words, and in those words the debt
I'll e'er owe thee. But, deceit lay coiled
In this oasis – neglect at its side.
By one, trust will only molder to spoil;
By the other's poison, affection dies.
   Thy graces with quill I did long adore,
   Though, for want of truth, thou art muse no more.

Immunity

For "Her."

The poison of thy rejection has proofed
My heart 'gainst love's trick – asking sacrifice
Of everything for naught – and left aloof
A spirit shamed; being too oft' enticed
To lunacy. While flames which once tempered
The steel of passion have been extinguished –
Drowned beneath an ocean of tears offered
In vain – I rise now shielded by anguish.
Although my soul is filled with discontent,
Like some disease endured, I'll grow inured
To further ills. And, affections now rent
Will serve as catalyst for future cure.
   I'll evermore use pain's propinquity
   To fortify hard-won immunity.

If I Should Drink Thee to My Soul's Content

For "Her."

If I should drink thee to my soul's content,
I would drown in the sweetness of thy kiss;
Baptized anew by your intoxicant
Lips, I would dwell forever in that bliss.
I pray one taste to satisfy my thirst –
Though, in truth, a single touch will not sate
This yearning, but risk intemperance. Cursed
To desire more, I battle 'gainst fate.
By Aphrodite, I raise this appeal:
If passion be not poison, grant the death
We often reach by lust, and show thy zeal
With whispers of love floating on your breath.
   Thy Ambrosia has o'erwhelmed my spirit,
   But, in my weakness lies all the profit.