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.

From Crush to Crushed (Part V): The Other Shoe

By Bud Koenemund

Right from our start, I knew how this would end:
The only way it can for guys like me…
Though I hoped ‘gainst hope passion could transcend
A past of loss – erasing misery –
Intellect recognized the bitter truth,
And shouted warnings which went unheeded;
Burying a soul in despair unsoothed,
When your turn pronounced my love unneeded.
Sadly, even if it’s true, “I never
Intended to hurt you” doesn’t lessen
This pain I feel. Those words wound forever
The heart a fool left in your possession.
   I composed verses praising her beauty,
   Unaware of how ugly she could be.

Complicated

By Bud Koenemund

(Written: September 2020)

Though I may be thought a fool to reveal
Desire – once more exposing my mind
To misery; tearing scars barely healed
After injuries caused by one unkind –
My soul yearns for thee, regardless of chance!
Ignore the torment in our pasts, and stand
With me. Please forgive this awkward advance,
And, grant the honor of holding your hand.
I, here, offer love willingly, despite
Complications which life can oft’ present;
Endeavoring to make my heart respite
For thine, with affection incandescent.
   Through storms of time, this promise will endure:
   Always and forever in passion pure.

Guilty in Silence

By Bud Koenemund

For Arthur H. Monigold

He told me not to tell, and I didn’t.

His own grandson – once untainted; trusting –

Protecting a monster whose sin imprints

The soul, poisoning innocence with lust;

Breeding this maelstrom raging through my brain:

Lightning strikes of emotion – wrath and shame;

Hate and self-doubt – a tempest unconstrained.

Yet, misery lurks darkest in that blame

I carry for silence. An accomplice

To evil; remaining mute as he forced

This curse upon others; rending solace

From family: a guilt beyond recourse.

   Though my flesh bears no scar, memory steals

   Peace with injuries time will never heal.

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.

Madness and Muse

By Bud Koenemund

For "Her."

"A thing of beauty is a joy forever." - John Keats

I hold your memory against my will;

Sentiment which imperils sanity

When every thought and dream reminds me still

Of the fool who gave devotion blindly.

But, this world won’t stop for a broken heart.

Indifferent to pain, both moon and sun

Rise, shine, then retire without regard;

Beg heaven for pity, you’ll receive none.

These things I desire can never be

Real. Love, fidelity lasting past death –

Blessed by madness and muse – is fantasy;

Affection shrouded in the dragon’s breath.

   Misery, it seems, lives joy’s companion;

   Torment entwined with beauty and passion.

It's Mine, and I Can Touch it if I Want

By Bud Koenemund

For "Her."

Pain is the cost of living, and mem’ry
Its tithe; images – good and bad – that dwell
To merge art with a mind in jeopardy;
Risking yet another descent toward Hell.
Like any addict, I’ll never be free
Of thy damned compulsion; left forever
Trapped between slavery and liberty,
‘Til the mortal coil has been severed.
While my scars will linger, and the bruises –
An ugly, yellow-black – refuse to fade,
There is some profit when anguish ‘comes muse,
And, by genius is suffering repaid.
   There is truth in the misery that haunts:
   It’s mine, and I can touch it if I want.