it's hard to be the bard, baby

queer-with-a-pen

i will sing of many things

as any good bard must do

bringing so much to life

with only the sound

of my voice

 

i could sing for you, too

softly, of a man with

daisies braided into

long hair and tucked behind ears

 

would you take these flowers

that i have picked

even if my hands shake

and their true meaning escapes me?

 

poor little bard,

i say to myself,

scrubbing tear tracks from pale cheeks

always singing of love

until his voice cracks and breaks

but never truly experiencing it

 

of course, there’s a certain

poetry in the persistence

of a wound such as this

 

though, metaphor be damned

it fucking hurts

but there’s no blood to sop up

nothing to bandage or splint

 

and at the end of the night

i am still left alone

something that feels like

your name on my tongue

 

and i want to tell you

so many things

like how beautiful you are

like how i’m sorry i let

this infatuation get so far

and grow so large

 

and i want you to know

that a bard with a broken heart

will yield no coin

but i’ll keep singing for you

anyway

 

because, my love

the least i can do

is immortalize you

 

if not in my arms

then through words that will

survive long after i have

returned to the ground

and isn’t that worth something?

  • Author: Boaz Priestly (Pseudonym) (Offline Offline)
  • Published: June 4th, 2020 03:42
  • Category: Love
  • Views: 35
  • Users favorite of this poem: James Michael
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Comments +

Comments1

  • James Michael

    You have taught me something that is easily forgotten. Thank you my friend!

    • queer-with-a-pen

      What a treat to read this poem again!
      And to hear from you as well, my friend. I am flattered there was a lesson to impart from my words.



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