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Personal Note:

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Poem

I've pondered on these things, 
Gasped over these things, many scores, a plentiful year ago. 
I expected a calmer touch, the absence of tempers ascending,
the road less sinful. 

These things are retrospect, I was a false dreamer on. 
From the day I fell into this misery, she never played mercy. 
I've never met a more tempting urge to ache than from the
scent of her presence. 

Did she sleep upon the pit of lucifers knee? 
Why so subtle? She would question when I held her, 
Starring doomsday in its vibrant, cultivating pupils. 

Company from yesterday caught wind of my SOS. 
They sent every safe page they graduated from, 
And ordered my return. 

But I knew of no backspaces I wanted to entertain
again. It began to settle on me, the ease of she was
a myth, until I wrote tomorrow with no gasp, no pause; 
the kiss of risk never left alone again. 

Since I've learned better, she tends to play smoother, 
smile deeper, deeper than this 30-year-old metaphor 
I'm still solving.

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