One year

Four days on without any resolutions,

when scorched was my blood, so filled with my poison.

But the fury had subsided to metal's touch,

which I believed to mirror my will.


And as my age grew, my wrath did as well,

but not to an ultimate boiling point.

For our words stung, both mine and yours;

the bitter-sweet teenage perplexity convulsing.


When sober I felt myself in despair,

eager to quench with the next reckless act.

For along with other pleasures and diminished fraternity,

I no longer had a thought of spiritual value.


When stumbling upon the joys of the flesh,

I had little left to concern myself with.

But helped to my feet and me my brother's keeper,

I held my ground against the lust.


Against the odds we reunited.

Joy was found in ruins of thought.

And yet when betrayed I felt hate return

and I sensed myself slipping to a place of desire.


When the days were the colour of an old oil painting,

and I felt my friendship slip through my grasp,

my anger and apathy ignited my empathy,

and my love became stronger than I'd ever known.


To me Earth's questions had given an answer;

Infatuation with a thing I could scarcely behold. 

Changing my mind had given me purpose,

yet as with all things other loves were jealous.


I was scared and irrational, spurred by thantophobia.

My thoughts a maze and lashed out once too often.

I lost you again yet refused to believe it

and I clung to your presence like a moth to a flame.


Distance and time was what drove us apart.

My fingers would tremble to tell you my falsehood.

For I knew that typing the truth, however tempting,

would lose me the audience I'd worked hard to obtain.


Friends needed assistance, and drama ensued. 

We still had joy in our parasitic affection

but none of it novelty, just all the nostalgia,

and I felt the ship sailing again from the shore.


I spoke to the other one to little avail,

and my thoughts turned to that of panicked desperation.

In the darkness I smoked with my thoughts all in order,

but they turned on me and confessed all their sins to you.


Helping the one who had once helped me,

barely registered on my ego.

For when meeting you again I knew that it was over,

for my eyes could not find you among those that I loved.


Till our next voyage.  







  • Author: Luke (Pseudonym) (Offline Offline)
  • Published: September 17th, 2017 17:27
  • Comment from author about the poem: A year in my life, punctuated by a particular sting of emotions around a few individuals that essentially make up my memory of that year. The poem is written from the perspective of one who has just finished the year, not, as in reality, someone looking back on it some time later. Enjoy :)
  • Category: Forgiveness
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