From Dust to Dust

By Bud Koenemund

Why would I fear something I have wished for,
Even tempted, nigh on 25 years?
What suffering exists beyond abhorred
Death’s veil that could eclipse pain endured here?
I should welcome an end to this torment –
The unceasing agony called life – which
Has left both intellect and body rent;
Bereft in spirit; with a soul of pitch.
Unafraid, I hold surrender not a sin;
I’ll embrace the darkness; finally
Set free from worldly struggles; whole again,
Someplace where these griefs no longer bind me.
   From dust, to dust, and thus a debt is paid
   When I, at last, am by the Reaper bade.

Wanton Ambling Nymphs

By Bud Koenemund

I fear perfect love is but fantasy;
A fiction dwelling solely in my brain;
Some trick of the mind’s creativity –
That domain where wanton ambling nymphs reign
O’er intellect; suffused by fairy tales
Oft’ ending happily ever after:
Though illusions inevitably fail
When affection’s nativity yields hurt.
These dreams ne’er align with reality,
As I awake confined in loneliness.
Yet, this despair does afford clarity –
A recognition of unworthiness.
   Time’s passage will prove no balm for my soul;
   I am left without cure to make me whole.

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.

Touch

By Bud Koenemund

For T.

The electricity of fingertips
Brushing ‘gainst my back creates a maelstrom
In the mind. Rationality is stripped
Away while intellect sputters – struck dumb.
What words can I use to describe your touch;
When every attempt, it seems, falls short;
Leaving language languishing as I clutch
At rhythm and rhymes? I give praise to court
Thy favor, but remain ever aware
Your hand is forbidden to mine; a fact
My brain accepts – though it flays the heart bare,
And sanity spirals in cataract.
   This verse can make no claim to innocence;
   Nor should be damned as mere concupiscence.

From Crush to Crushed (Part IV): Idiot

By Bud Koenemund

"Everyone's heart is an idiot." - Thomas Paris

My heart, I fear, has played the fool again;
Deceived by lies; left inconsolable,
After desire o’re sense gained free reign,
And malice made passion disposable.
How many times can a heart survive
Being broken – shattered anew – before
Surrendering; refusing revival
Only to stumble on forever torn?
If everyone’s heart is an idiot,
Why seems it especially so with mine?
In the book of love found illiterate;
Destined to be alone by fate malign.
   Affection oft’ exacts a dreadful cost;
   Intellect is crushed and sanity lost.

From Crush to Crushed (Part II): All or Nothing

By Bud Koenemund

My heart knows but two ways: all or nothing!
Rushing toward love with reckless abandon;
A fool; ignoring intellect’s warnings;
All the senses overwhelmed by passion.
Unable to acknowledge this danger,
My mind soars on winds of euphoria,
As desire and judgement ‘come strangers
Reveling in temporary glory.
Indeed, this flaw corrupted affection
For thee – I gave devotion sans Reason;
Leaving my spirit in destitution;
Stumbling through a wasteland all alone.
   This defeat must be confessed unblushing;
   I gave all… and ended up with nothing.

Slow Motion

By Bud Koenemund

(Written: December 2020)

Know’st thou that moment in each Romantic
Comedy, when yon fiery mistress
Doth approach the hapless teen male, flicking
To and fro, with careless ease, her lustrous
Mane; while time – defying reason – passes
In slow motion, and said young man does gawk;
Stupefied – as concupiscence crashes,
O’erwhelming intellect – too stunned to talk?
I have known thee beyond thirty moons full –
My heart being surrendered from the first –
And, though I am mad – thought, by some, a fool –
I swear to you, with passion unrehearsed:
   When I see thee, my entire world stands still;
   Struck dumb, as heavenly choirs trill.

Divided

By Bud Koenemund

For Lindsay

Lady; passion and intellect divide
Me. While attraction remains true, I know
Your youth, to my age, is rightly denied.
Like Summer’s bright blooms outshine Winter’s snow,
So doth beauty eclipse infirmity.
Nature favors one as others decline:
Fading steadily in obscurity;
The mortality to which all resign.
What can I do if desire’s forbid?
Only a fool would declare affection –
Exposing an emotion best left hid –
When silence affords certain protection.
   Love is safer wrapped in the guise of art,
   For speaking truth will surely break my heart.

Peace

By Bud Koenemund

I fear my mind will never be at peace.

Denied solace – some rest to cast aside

Burdens – I stalk the unrelenting beast

Within, while pain breeds thoughts unsanctified

By reason. Truth becomes ethereal –

For even intellect strains sanity –

When reality seems a betrayal

Of being as I bear life’s misery;

An indifference leaving the soul hollow.

Time possesses no power to assuage

Those malignant fiends who lurk in shadow,

Sowing madness which intensifies rage.

   This maelstrom’s fury has obscured the light,

   Shrouding spirit in an abyss of night.

By Your Inspiration

By Bud Koenemund

For Lindsay

I am, too often, deficient in speech;

Struck silent by the war ‘twixt intellect

And passion; seeking language that would reach

Your heart; confessions I pray might connect

Our souls; striving to express desire,

While pledging the respect of innocence.

Though my rhymes are feeble, I must admire

Thy beauty, and compliment elegance.

Muse, thou art more deserving of esteem

Than any who treads upon the base Earth

We inhabit. From that grace, like sunbeams,

Words radiate to celebrate love’s worth.

   Be sure such light enkindles creation,

   For this took life by your inspiration.

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?