Trapped in hypothetical nostalgia,
I get no rest. Is it self induced,
this hypochondriacal cardialgia
stray memories of you have produced?
Haunted right down to my dubious core
by your disarming, incessant laughter
that heals me of each self-inflicted sore.
Banished to an imagined hereafter,
caught in a bliss that never did exist;
yet i can not long for liberation
for the mind is moot should the heart resist;
you're the price of my self-revelation.
A discarded man of baseless morals
dreaming sparkling diamonds out of corals.
You almost always know after you've met someone that they are not "the one". Sometimes you settle for them because you're tired of looking, alotta people are brave enough to keep searching and get lucky. I wrote this for the only person I ever met and let pass me by that I am still not sure about.
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5 comments:
Come now, Mr. Big Rich, we can't afford ourselves any regrets now, can we??
Ish, You might wanna read this again if you see traces of regret. It is the polar opposite of regret. I meant what i said.
actually, the regret aint even in the poem, it's in this one line of ur lil narrative;
"...that I am still not sure about."
(italics mine) the uncertainity 'bout the way things turned out is what i was refferin' to
oops! almost forgot, it's not a poem is it?? it's a country song! (wink wink!)
I'm truly, completely, absolutely speechless!
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