Love: 1998 - 2016 (Part III: Insufficiency)

By Bud Koenemund

For "Her."

In truth, Muse, I dread thy inspiration;

The mid-night whisperings that tease my ear,

Once more igniting flames of obsession –

A passion undiminished despite years

Neglected; left smoldering and alone.

I must confess, ‘tis not thy tongue I fear,

And rather should embrace the songs you’ve sown –

Sacred melodies I alone can hear –

But, shame lives in my insufficiency:

Knowing mere words are unequal to your

Grace, and their praise oft’ falls short lyrically.

For this sin, thy pardon I do implore.

   These rhymes – unworthy of the page they stain –

   Serve as reminders of love never gained.

Never Close My Eyes

By Bud Koenemund

For "Her."

If you were mine, I’d never close my eyes

When we kiss, afraid you would disappear

Upon opening; like those things enskied

When each morn the returning sun doth ‘pear

O’er far horizon. In truth, I’d savor

Every moment – and yet crave still more;

Searching thy orbs for some sign of favor

Equal to that filling my soul. Restore

Faith in love, and sweeten corrupted dreams,

With a look – evidence to prove thy heart

Attainable – for my hope and esteem

Are spent; bled away by an age apart.

   I hold now only memories, longing,

   And the cold comfort of these little songs.

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.

Talent

By Bud Koenemund

You never cease to amaze me. I wish I had your talent. – "Her."

O, what have I wrought which does not belong
To thee, when my fingers move but by thy
Influence? How can such passion be wrong,
When in every rhyme you stand ally?
While I'll fade as I measure out my life
With reams of paper and ink cartridges,
These words will live forever, and through strife
You'll own me: heart, soul, bone, and cartilage.
Lady, these little songs do testify
'Gainst talent. And, though I so often fail
At composing verses to glorify,
My words stand proof of devotion unveiled.
   What gift I may possess is truly thine,
   For thou art both my muse and love divine.