Half

By Bud Koenemund

Half of my heart is still in love with you;
A notion foolish as it is sincere,
When that affection’s forever imbued
By sadness: growing more and more austere.
Half of my mind is still in love with you;
Yet condemned to recall happier days,
‘Fore passion incandescent went askew;
Leaving intellect and sanity razed.
Half of my soul still belongs to you;
Though ‘tis now mortal – crushed beyond the repair
Time can grant; a solace long overdue –
As I stumble about in my despair.
   I seek a peace I fear I’ll never find,
   While memory and shadow intertwine.

A Warrior Poet's Soul

By Bud Koenemund

For Christina Alvarado

My mind cries out, profaning the universe;
Mourning, o’er and o’er, this tragedy –
An assault on existence – while cursing
A suppos’d caring god’s perfidy.
I wish I could hold you in my arms now;
Embracing gently; a reassuring
Touch to defy despair and doubt; somehow
Granting peace – a balm easing suffering.
But, I know the strength you possess: spirit,
Resolve, stubbornness, and tenacity;
With a warrior poet’s soul. Sans fear,
You’ll tilt ‘gainst fate for immortality.
   I have and will always love you, my Friend;
   Sentiment which shall endure ‘til time’s end.

Remember to Forget

By Bud Koenemund

I wish I could remember to forget –
Awakening one day, finally free:
My mind unbound, and Reason manumit;
No more a prisoner of memory.
But, what liberty would that erasure
Provide? Only temporary respite?
Or, a balm healing the wounds I’ve endured;
Allowing re-birth of spirit and wit?
Time, I fear, will never grant me solace –
Peace has yet to suffuse my weary soul.
Indeed, though years have burned away apace,
Your absence still exacts a grievous toll.
   Recollection brings you back to my brain,
   E’en as I seek deliverance from pain.

Grief

By Bud Koenemund

Grief will never refuse a chance to sneak
Up on me – quickening darkness; breeding
Sorrow; tearing apart defenses weak;
Leaving sanity broken and bleeding.
It taints the verses of a thousand songs;
Barely remembered poems can spark life;
Trapping my mind amidst numberless wrong
Turns – where memory waits with whetted knife.
This monster aims not to kill, but open
Wounds thought healed by time; renewing my pain.
Misery, faded – almost forgotten –
Returns, overwhelming what peace I’ve gained.
   Someday, one hopes, suffering may convert;
   For now, there are no days it doesn’t hurt.

Voices

By Bud Koenemund

The voices are always louder at night;
When I’m alone; vulnerable to their
Influence; criticism which ignites
Self-doubt and –hatred; heightening despair.
Too oft’, these condemnations seem substance:
“You’re not worth affection.” “Who could love a beast?”
“She’s out of your league.” “You have no chance!”
“Why try?” “Just give up, and accept defeat.”
The enemies inside grow insistent –
A treason battering weak defenses –
Overwhelming what little resistance
I can offer to protect my senses.
   How does one combat a mind seditious;
   Obscuring reason with thoughts malicious?

The Woods are Lovely, Dark, and Deep

 By Bud Koenemund

It’s sneaky, see? Re-appearing when least
Expected. I’ll be happy for a while;
Then, suddenly, devoured by the beast;
Sanity made hostage to thoughts vile.
Although darkness offers comfort – release
From frustration and pain – the depression
Lies; breeding torment rather than peace;
Promising a void unknown as solution.
This is the conflict raging through my mind –
Each day I wake another battle won
Against myself. Yet, even triumph finds
Reason dragged closer to coming undone.
   True, I oft’ crave the ease of surrender;
   But, trials and woe remain ‘fore slumber.

It Comes at Night

By Bud Koenemund

It comes at night, when I am defenseless.
Black and amorphous, lurking beyond sight;
Yet crushing: enveloping the senses
In fear. Doubt paralyzes, inviting
A surrender I would willingly give.
This unnamed dread – spirit malicious –
Abuses intellect, holding captive
Reason as my own mind becomes seditious;
Left vulnerable to shadows and ghosts –
Specters of depression which mock defeats,
Real or imagined, while I suffer; lost
As thoughts betray: embracing light’s retreat.
   Despair creeps, growing stronger in this gloom,
   Enticing me ever closer to doom.

Wonder

By Bud Koenemund

For Trey

What wonder fills the mind of a child;

An exuberance unbridled by doubt,

While imagination leads to wild

Adventures spanning galaxies…without

Fear of missing dinner. Inquisitive;

Hungry for the knowledge found in this world,

And others beyond reach. Intuitive;

Seeking truth as life’s mysteries unfurl

About them. Though bodies rest, thoughts hurry

Ahead. Dreams race against time to reveal

The universe before sunrise can blur

Miracles which daylight, and age, conceal.

   Youth itself kindles curiosity;

   Igniting flames of creativity.

Weird

By Bud Koenemund

For C.

I’m weird? Pray tell, for writing little songs?

Articulating my feelings with verse?

While futile, would you call struggle wrong;

The offering of sentiment perverse?

But, I beg, remember, in days to come,

When thou art married, and bear two point three

Kids; suffering a man whose brain is numb;

Abiding ignorance, as love’s decreed

Through monosyllabic grunts; recall these

Scribblings fondly. Cherish those mem’ries

Awakened by words spun only to please

Your eye, with rhythm, and rhyme’s symmetry.

   Though there is strangeness in the proportions

   Of my mind, it feeds beauty’s expression.

Breath

By Bud Koenemund

For K.

My hand was made to fit around your throat,

Enjoying the warmth of caramel skin,

Denying breath as my tongue darts and floats

Over flesh, blissfully drinking you in.

I squeeze, while you gasp, clutching at my wrist;

Mind struggling ‘gainst body’s desire,

A loss of control neither can resist –

Surrendering to burn in this fire;

The passion raging ‘til la petite mort

Erupts with a maelstrom of ecstasy;

Our pleasure and pain thunder as we court

That death before collapsing breathlessly.

   Domination and submission feed lust,

   But love matures in these displays of trust.

Love is a Weapon

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.

Love: 1998 - 2016 (Part V: Repentance)

By Bud Koenemund

For "Her."

Oh, Lady; I believed, and so oft’ swore

My passion, like the stars, would never cool –

Thy heart held in mine, forever adored.

Alas, love, once more, has proved me a fool.

These words have grown repetitive; complaints

Monotonous – despite intention pure –

And fervor neglected has finally waned,

For you could not be mine as I was yours.

The offense lies tattooed upon my soul –

Indelible, and irredeemable –

As life, it seems, demands a monstrous toll;

Leaving voice censured, and mind unstable.

   I do at last repent that affection;

   Praying some power will grant redemption.

Memories of You Always Begin with a Smile

By Bud Koenemund

For "Her."

Memories of you always begin

With a smile; thoughts springing forth to curve

My lips: your laugh; whispers; treason kindled

In the dark; brown eyes; that Clapton song still serves.

For a moment – beautiful, though fleeting –

I see your face, and recall the joy of

First sight; offering my heart, not heeding

The warnings given – a fool blind in love.

Sadly, this pleasure cannot live without

Anguish, and gossamer visions spoil

As what might have been, but never was, routs

These daydreams, leaving affection soiled.

   Remembrance endures, the more torment mine,

   For time has yet to purge you from my mind.

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.

The Grapes of Wrack

By Bud Koenemund

For "Her."

As fruit unplucked will wither on the vine –
Abandoned to burn in a sun of shame,
Then fester and fall – an untasted wine,
So can love denied rot the heart, and maim
A soul. Neglect will corrupt affection,
Provoking a disease incurable;
Leaving all blackened by the infection
Of doubt – oft’ leading to an unstable
Mind. But, though ruined, crops can rise again,
Or serve to fertilize fields left fallow;
The passage of time can mitigate pain,
Allowing ripened spirits to mellow.
   When passion lies wracked in shadows of gloom,
   It will seek out light to renew its bloom.

Resignation

By Bud Koenemund

A certain freedom comes with surrender
(Interpret this as: giving up; quitting) –
Conceding defeat not to engender
Pity, but to gain peace by admitting
I lack the strength to fight every ghost:
Past, present, and future knit together.
When yielding is less painful than love lost,
I must end devotion to that altar.
The mind acknowledges this submission
Seems childish; the heart no longer cares.
Affection, once golden, has become dun,
And by relenting I escape despair.
   Serenity lies in accepting that
   I’ll die alone…and be eaten by cats.

Ghost

By Bud Koenemund

For "Her."

Shrouded in the mystery of my mind
A thought creeps: your perfection was a myth –
Unfound in the light of day – more affined
To fairy tales and love stories than with
Reality. I fear you were no more
Than a shadow cast by a flickering
Candle; an ecstasy left unexplored;
Only a mirage – faint and shimmering.
But, my affection has always remained
Pure; a devotion honest and unfeigned.
Cursed with a memory I can't restrain,
My heart lives a hostage, broken and chained.
   I am doomed to brood over what is lost;
   Enduring each day haunted by your ghost.

Darkness

By Bud Koenemund

For "Her."

I descend into the darkness slowly,
Reluctantly, for slumber provides no
Respite from the pain. I resist, knowing
My unconscious mind lacks the power to
Turn away visions of you, leaving me
Defenseless in the ether; foundering
In a dream of love that will never be
Real. I stand alone, chaos surrounding
Every thought; while doubt infects my brain,
All worldly cares slacken and madness raves.
Why must mem'ry continue to constrain,
Tempting a fragile spirit toward the grave?
   Sleep serves as no cure for this kind of tired,
   And my wit contends 'gainst death in the mire.

Suicidal Cure

By Bud Koenemund

My soul was not crushed by a single stone,
Nor drowned in the deluge of one tempest.
But, the weight of years alone has o'erthrown
My mind, and stripped the spirit to its rawest
Nerve. I am a man already dead –
Alive only in this physical form;
Left without rest, and many roads to tread;
Blindly groping for shelter from the storm.
Though I seek not a suicidal cure,
My first thought upon opening my eyes:
It's just another day I must endure,
Before I can finally lie down and die.
   I lack the light to vanquish this darkness,
   And, so must roam the wasteland of madness.