A Seeing For Love
A Repeating Image OF Love Anon — Sightseer’s Poems
Come and hear, from the trails of a love lost, clinging on, hear me repeat this tragic tale, in this poem.
©Joanie Adams — Joanie Adams; Gift A Tea: https://ko-fi.com/joanieadamms
Flashing — flashing — fascinating me Abounding, nestling that trick,
Love breaches the hefty walls anon, Anon and anon, making amends is all
I ever wished to offer you aught, yet naught Of such hopeful kinds ever could arrive.
The youthful prospects, it was deceiving Me on, the desire was full — the bosom ever more the empty thing;
Truth to be told coldly, it was the beginning of nothing. Naught changes more ill when the diseased idolizing of thin lies
In the slacking shield of kited wings In a brisk wind, is snapped, like a neck;
The life untethered cannot be bound to it, That cherishing of hope over fact —
It suits me ill to give something I cannot — Truth be told on that:
Of grimly cold reservoirs, That has given you Naught else but grief and despair, by my lack thereof
Love spirals in the affinity Which peddles paddocks;
I am unkind in my certainty for such a thing, So be it — I need that muscle to seize me forth;
Pestering me to fluster, under this sheer weight — I apologize, but I cannot avail under such bulk,
And expect my love to remain true, and not awful In its facsimile of what has never been truthful, yet not confronted.
A seeing for love, I grow too cold, lingering beneath the ill Expectations of wished-for returns, here.
To throw a bad love kindly is ill, but to keep a once-good love Falsely, is an ill twice to be thrown from perpetuity.
Love anon, anon, anon —
I bear, and let it not now be recounted; There it is… I go now and bid you no torment From my sudden departures — you knew, you knew of my Falsehoods now, if I could reassure you in aught thereon.
Anon, anon, anon — does the rapping of our devotions kvetches—
Purely thin, and thickly fringed — repeat it thrice, and you’ll spoil
The memory that takes the pressure of the disappointing lacking —
That is the pure confront of me;
Last and outlast my foolish pursuits / after the meadows of our adoration Have been reaped grimly, by the silliness of my demands; Go now, and outlast me — find the love not bitter, in my angle. And it demands to be heard only further.
Love anon, anon, anon —
Go now — go! And let me not be your further pursuit; Nary your falling repeat.
I butcher all ties, don’t you dare repeat Or use I as your final excuses For all sin —
Go, and let it be done!;
Go — go!
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