I'll Hate Myself to Sleep

By Bud Koenemund

For "Her."

Her words cut through the ether, ensuring
Another night I’ll hate myself to sleep.
The mind o’erthrown becomes an unwilling
Traitor – yielding all sense as mem’ry creeps;
Rising once more from the abyss of dreams.
You’d think by now my heart would be immune;
Standing impregnable ‘gainst lies which seem
Sweet, though prove nothing but a Siren’s tune.
In truth, I can’t deny wishing to hear
Those songs again, although I know they’ll cause
Renewed pain; fueling a madness I fear
Leaves love forever corrupted and flawed.
   Lady, I beg, demand no more of me,
   For thy tongue hath bred my soul’s agony.

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.

Fair Katherine, and Most Fair

For Natasha Piletich
(Henry V, Hudson Valley Shakespeare Festival - 2002)

Beauty steps to the stage from the twilight
Of a sultry Hudson Valley evening.
I am bewitched; enchanted by a sight
Rivaling bright Polaris' gleaming;
She speaks, and magic drips from her tongue.
Her French, a Siren song, perfect in my ear,
Charms my soul, and steals the breath from my lungs
While I hang on each word. I long to hear
More, but I know this vision cannot last
Beyond these brief hours – all plays must end.
Though in my memory I will hold fast,
And commend her art with unable pen.
Such thespian Grace has exposed a fool
Who struggles with rhyme to praise a jewel.