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.

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.

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.

You Haunt My Soul With Unmerciful Eyes

For Christina Martinez

You haunt my soul with unmerciful eyes,
That wound my spirit where no blade can reach,
Down in the place my candescent heart lies,
And time no longer serves to heal the breach;
Before your torrid gaze once more I stand
Defenseless; searching for some safe harbor
On a sea of passion; I beg your hand
To save my heart and sustain my labor;
I have faced this peril before and know
Those orbs are filled with unspoken sorrow,
But delight and deceit be damned below,
To the Devil I’ll condemn my marrow.
Against this tempest love I am powerless,
And left but to rage in Lear-like madness.