Allocution

By Bud Koenemund

For "Her."

I have no choice now but to admit guilt;
The blame, by any measure, 'longs to me
Alone. I will trudge to the gallows built
Atop my shame and deliver that plea;
No remorse tempers this allocution;
Though, one excuse I'll give to mitigate
The crime: My heart was misled by passion –
Fooled into thinking you'd reciprocate.
Much like Will's green-eyed Moor, I have "loved not
Wisely but too well." And, that devotion
Blinded me to truth; leaving a mind fraught
With madness for seeking thy affection.
   On the charge of love I stand convicted;
   My penance, I fear, is self-inflicted.

Bad Dream

By Bud Koenemund

For "Her."

Turning toward me, a whisper escapes your
Lips: "I love you" lingers despite the roar
Of wind whipping through obsidian hair.
Your skin, like velvet, glows in sun-warmed air,
And I see my smile reflected in
The sunglasses obscuring your brown eyes.
I reach to touch the hand of my soul's twin,
Unaware this is but slumber's disguise;
Happiness that cannot survive waking –
A bitter dawn after this dream's sweet peak.
I grasp in vain at dying night, aching
To embrace once more the passion I seek.
   I find contentment only lost in sleep,
   For when roused, mem'ry haunts and madness creeps.

All the Words Unwritten

By Bud Koenemund

All the words unwritten – whirling about
Inside my head, like a discordant storm
Of prolixity – threaten to drown out
Thought, and resist my attempts to transform
A handful from chaos to harmony.
They rattle and clatter around my skull,
Banging together precariously;
Roaring like a hurricane without lull.
But, when a few words tumble into place,
Coalescing to form rhythm and rhyme,
I oft' abandon slumber; embracing
The whisper of my muse past midnight's chime.
   Though my songs suffer form's captivity,
   Such limits arouse creativity.

Thesaurize

By Bud Koenemund

Thesaurize: (verb) To think or believe a word means, or is synonymous with, something it does not or is not. Often used when referring to another person in a derogatory manner.

You were too fucking stupid to see you were getting what you want.

I was falling in love with you. – "Her."

I once believed love meant everything;

A yearning beyond real definition;

Passion built on devotion; cherishing

Another soul; becoming a bastion

'Gainst each defeat, and partner in the climb

Toward bliss. I would give all I am to feel

The momentary touch of such sublime

Emotion, offered with joy unconcealed.

But, you have schooled me in affection's new

Meaning: Indifference toward one who adores;

Evasion; leading sanity askew

When you speak of love, while in deed abhor.

   'Tis certain you're right; I'm a man 'twas blind;

   In consequence, my heart betrayed my mind.

Knowing

By Bud Koenemund

For "Her."

The worst thing about you leaving – again –
Is knowing in my soul you will come back.
Sure as the dark of night and April rain,
You'll return to heal yourself as you wrack
My sanity once more. I fear you'll wait
Until I've somehow patched together a
Heart you've crushed before. Alas, 'tis my fate
To be punished for the sin of love; flayed
Alive by your indifference; my will
Exiled to the wasteland of rejection,
And devotion exposed as a windmill
I charge heedless of my own destruction.
   Passion I held stronger than gravity
   Has yielded to painful lucidity.

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.

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.

Everything

By Bud Koenemund

For "Her."

You are: my bravery, and greatest fear;
The thief of my voice, e'en as I sing these
Little songs in praise; the cause of each tear,
And ev'ry smile which follows; the keys
To free devotion, as well as its jail;
At once condemnation and redemption;
The void of despair into which I wail;
A muse of fire; Heaven of invention;
Each word my weak fingers manage to scratch
On paper; both sanity and madness;
My heart's desire, and soul's perfect match;
Fantasy, and nightmare; joy, and sadness;
   My strength, and weakness; the queen to a king.
   In truth, to me, Love, you are everything.

Doomsday

By Bud Koenemund

For "Her."

Must I await thy call 'til Doomsday come?
O, wilt thou grant my wish: either to claim
This disconsolate heart as thine in sum,
Surrendering thy bosom to the flames
Of that passion enkindled by your eyes;
Or, emancipate a soul thus enslaved –
Bound by my devotion I'll not deny –
Allowing, through grace, a mind to be saved?
If thy will be the former, affection
Is mine; if latter, I'll be forever
Persecuted for my self-deception;
Withering as doubt clouds each endeavour.
   All that I am I once more offer thee,
   And beg: requite my love or set me free.