Quintessential. 

Poetry.

The quintessential question is not how we fall in love; But why we fall in love.

Souls that dance with one another, 

Only to wither away at the end of the song. 

Why would we subject ourselves to the mortality of love? 

Lest we not forget,

The casualties of this war! 

For it is a war; a soldier’s coup of the heart,

Fall-in-love-as-we-fall-apart. 

Ring a ring a Rosie’s, 

Pocket full of shrapnel and decay!

I chose to fall in love today.

And the quintessential question is not why we fall in love; 

But who we fall in love with. 

Cold hands meet and numb lips embrace, 

The ensuring seizures of bliss. 

Ah. 

But who? Who indeed- 

Tall, dark and handsome, 

No! 

My lover is much simpler than that,

With frowning laugh lines and a weakly back. 

I fell in love with him for his flaws;

For if its perfect it’s not real at all. 

But the quintessential question is not who we fall in love with; 

But what we fall in love for. 

Diamonds and enchantments?  

Love-of-life-enhancements? 

We fall in love for the sake of our sanity, 

As without the oxytocin of love- 

We are but breaths of stale air. 

I fall in love to remain, 

For the only way to be remembered, is to cause the greatest of pain.

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For You.

Poetry.

Unadulterated;

I have but one request:

That silence may reign, and silence may journey.

Do not follow the road you’ve already forgotten,

Let me lay, lay me to rest.

 

There is no come hither glance in this room;

I seem to have forgotten why I was seated.

On a chair,

And, oh! How you loom,

Conceited, greedy doom.

 

What more can I expect from a man with no claws,

To fiercely hold onto his beloved,

To adore, to cherish, to covet.

But – ah – this void attached;

Be still, my beating heart.

 

Mayhap, you are a jest-

A wicked waning of my soul?

Be not afraid,

Be on the rise, oh true moon,

For there is no melody, yet.

A joyous demise.