Lost Desire
I start to wish, but ask the cost,
A genie calls, 'now call it yours',
But satisfied, desire is lost.
So visit me at Styx' dark moors,
A wake, for waking to my loss.
One final hope? Repeated course.
A tug of strings at heart of moss,
One slow to ire, and too, desire,
In dark I sow, at day I cross,
At eve I stand with bow of fire.
Reborn, I weep, then take with sleep,
Returned once more, to lonely mire.
You ask of me, of what I see,
I ask of you, a date and time,
The truth will change, and with it, me.
I try to speak, less wrapped in rhyme,
Of what I felt, and what was true,
But lies persist, a heart's true crime;
To give me love, then break the ruse.
By love, I mean a wish to keep,
By ruse, I mean fair-weather cruise.
So slow I walk, or rather creep,
Up to my muse, afraid to spook,
Yet I, with laser focus leap.
My prey, I've prayed, will fawn, not flee,
But now it fights, while I just cower,
Now weak and fearful, up a tree,
I fear to think I'm in a tower.
Its bricks of loss, and time, and grace.
Its spiral stairs, my lack of power,
To take a step, and see my face,
Of quiet hope from yesterday.
I tell myself to keep my pace,
Remind myself what I should say.
Accept the beast that was my hope,
And cause its feral heart to stay.
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