I am Jealous, I am lonely

 

My muse

Muses could be nature, love, loss, motherland, god

But my muse is shamelessly jealousy

The uncanny irk that triggered the poet within

As I sit alone tonight

Friendless and pensive,

Enveloped in a miasma of nostalgia

See-sawing between pleasurable memories and painful retrospection

The thronging crowds slowly dwindling into solitude

I was unconsciously transforming from an insouciant king into a jealous slave

As the painful feeling of want pushed me into an agony that I writhed and thrashed about helpless

Cutting myself from the very ones I loved having besides