My Own Worst Enemy

By Bud Koenemund

For "Her."

Heaven knows why I continue to blame
You for my fragmented soul, when the fault
Lies with me alone. But, admitting shame
Achieves no solace – no peace to exalt –
When my thoughts constantly echo failure –
Real and imagined – poisoning present
Delight; making my own mind the jailer
Of happiness. I fear this discontent
Will grow, festering in obscurity;
Resistant to the healing love provides.
Neglect has sullied passion’s purity;
Cursing affection by excising pride.
   Memories of you leave my heart fallow,
   And forever proofed ‘gainst Cupid’s arrow.

The Tears of a Clown

By Bud Koenemund

For Robin Williams

It seems those blessed in creativity
Are oft’ tortured as well by depression;
Demons who whisper so persuasively;
Tempting them e’er closer to destruction.
Though approbation may stave off despair,
It can grow strong, creeping in the shadows
Of the mind, while all remain unaware
Their well-meant compliments can ring hollow.
I can’t pretend to understand your pain,
Only empathize by comparison:
We each bear our own burdens; many chained
To fear and doubt; mocked by imperfection.
   O Captain! though words will pale ‘gainst sorrow;
   Despite tears, I’ll rise to seize tomorrow.

What Would Jesus Say?

By Bud Koenemund

For the tired, the poor, the huddled masses.

What would Jesus say if he knew those with
Abundance refuse souls truly in need?
When their ignorance serves to feed a myth
Rather than a mouth, would He call that greed?
Should His pride unfurl when hatred is hurled
At women and children by those who claim
To believe in One who made the whole World;
Or, will His judgment serve to kindle shame?
He commands, “Suffer the little children
To come unto me.” Yet, blessed with plenty,
Many fail His word, condemning millions
Of innocents to life in poverty.
   It is human weakness which makes gold’s worth
   Seem higher than our brothers on this Earth.

Indelible

By Bud Koenemund

For "Her."

These little songs mock me; e’er taunting in
Ink indelible as the years wasted
Begging love; the shame tattooed on my skin –
A reminder of passion untasted.
My own words accuse, indicting my mind
For crimes unpardonable, and judgment
Is damned, as if fervor can be confined
To those requiting life’s sweetest torment.
While I cannot hope to avoid the sting
Of other’s ridicule, that anguish pales
‘Gainst the unending pain self-contempt brings
An ego stripped bare as sanity fails.
   Though the heart struggles on, forever seared,
   Scars left on the soul never disappear.

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.

You Don't Love Me, But You Won't Let Me Go

By Bud Koenemund

For "Her."

Fearing you've returned to hurt me again,
I crumble once more – left wondering what
I've done to deserve the unending pain
You inflict: the indifference which cuts
Through body and soul, infecting my mind
With doubt, and an anger that taints the heart –
Poisoning affection; leaving me blind
To delight, e'en as I seek a new start.
You don't love me, but you won't let me go.
And I, unable to resist, still trust
An illusion, just an idiot's hope,
Someday we'll rebuild passion from the dust.
   Dark Lady, I beg, understand my plea:
   Claim my hand…or forever set me free.

Words, Words, Words

By Bud Koenemund

For TK

I possess no gift with words; no powers
Magical, nor grasp on love's subtle ways.
Rather, too often rhymes linger, soured
Upon the tip of my quill, as fear plays
'Gainst desire. And, I despair respect
Will seem diminished by repetition.
Though my soul is frozen, I can't affect
Immunity to Cupid's ambition,
For you, Muse, have breathed life into my prose
With beauty and wit, pleasing eye and breast.
And, as sunlight serves to nourish the rose,
Your genius can feed emotion repressed.
   The secrets of passion surpass my ken;
   But, thy favor revives my heart and pen.

Lost in Translation

By Bud Koenemund

For "Her."

I sought to place you on a pedestal –
Enskied – the sun candescent 'gainst my dark;
Thinking you a being celestial;
An angel igniting the divine spark.
Desiring to shield you from a world
Of slings and arrows aimed at sanity,
Leaves my soul craving grace as madness whirls –
Begging one kiss to void profanity.
This wish to protect never meant possess –
Locking you away in tallest towers.
And, though some fear by worship I obsess,
My heart aches on, praying passion will flower.
   Often by words emotion can augment,
   But love unrequited breeds discontent.

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.

Concupiscent

By Bud Koenemund

For "Her."

I write so oft' of my respect for thee;
Assuring my heart's allegiance to thine –
A bosom prized above the air I breathe –
Begging thy hand; our fingers intertwined.
But, lust has o'erwhelmed thoughts of purity,
And desire craves thy touch on my skin,
While we mock the curse of avidity –
Two merged as one in consecrated sin.
Passion swells, demanding release boundless
As fantasy; yielding all; submitting
To nature, and each other; a guiltless
Surrender to hunger unremitting.
   Though I seek no grace for concupiscence,
   I pray my true love will pierce thy defense.