Of Loneliness

One can fall in love with loss
and celebrate
the self-indulgent tear.
To lose the quest
and choose the guest of emptiness
makes no demand upon the heart
or intellect...
but, ah, the comfort in the arms of misery!

There is delight in daily dying,
the single-minded sinecure of self,
sweet sadness on the center stage.

Here, pride is self-inflating,
for the world is never weary
of the purposefully lost.

The temple of despair permits no irony
but that it generate in its own  fortress,
where selective telescopes of envy
focus in on happiness abroad,
while shaking heads of judgment
polish lenses, watch and feed
on failure and ennui.

 

To right and left
along the corridor of choice,
these rooms are empty.
Persistence paid in surreality,
reward is counterfeit,
and dining such as this
is just as prelude to the mud and ash
which is self-pity's wallowing ground.

 

Such may never pass,
and one would have it so?
         ~

 

Reviews

[Linda Marie Van Tassell]

I find comfort in the loss; for therein, not all is lost. There's joy in the sadness and a remembrance of touch in the absence. No. For once the wings of love and joy have brushed against you, you are ever reminded their touch, hopeful that you will inevitably be touched again. If not, there is always the remembrance.

Lovely!

[Dean]

Thank you. I had a little fun with this one. Linda, I always appreciate the care and the thought that you put into your comments. Do know that I am hopeful that you will benefit me with your reactions to many more peeks and responses to my scribblings in the days and weeks ahead---if you can stand it! :-)

[Linda Marie Van Tassell]

You're very welcome. As promised last night, it is my intent to peruse your words; and I have been happily doing so this morning. I hope you don't tire of hearing from me.

[Dean]

never! It is what I live for.

[Girl Friday (Sarah W.)]

One of the most brilliant reads of the day for me, my friend. So many amazing lines, and the flow is absolutely impeccable; I am more than jealous of your effortless tempo and rhythm.

Here, pride is self-inflating,
for the world is never weary
of the purposefully lost. -- These lines really stood out for me; the matter of fact speech is in such stark contrast to the pang of emotion that I feel when I read the words. I'm enthralled.

Overall, fantastic. I always find inspiration in your words...

[Dean]

Thanks, doll.

[BeckyBelle]

Exceptionally moving. This may be one of the most piercing poems I have read in quite a while.

I read the lines -
"world is never weary
of the purposefully lost"
- many times over. So hauntingly truthful.

A truly beautiful piece.

[Dean]

ThaNK you.

[quinfinn]

someone may have missed your point here, and we talk about self indulgence like none of us a capable. i won't expound upon a dead issue.

[Dean]

a cryptic response to what may be a cryptic poem...dunno

[Marie]

Certainly not. And I am tired of all the self pity slush I read on this site.

[Dean]

I guess if you read self-pity, you might find it. I had no such intention.

[Marie]

Oh not you. It's the last thing in the world I'd expect from you.