Freddy Rymbai Poet Elegy

The Elegy Of The Forsaken

What wounds me, sweet tormentor, is not thy leaving...
but the indecent haste with which thou didst adorn another’s arm.
I beheld thee in those painted illusions of joy,
thy visage aglow with the mockery of tenderness,
thy laughter nestled in the hollow where my name once dwelt.
And there I stood...spectator to my own erasure...
as thou didst rehearse love’s charade
upon another stage, beneath an unpitying sun.

Ah, how swiftly didst thou barter eternity for novelty!
The grave of our affection scarce had cooled,
yet already thy heart had donned new raiment,
as though fidelity were but a costume for the fickle.
I, meanwhile, lingered amidst the ruins...
a ghost condemned to haunt
the echo of a promise never meant.

Those cursed portraits,
paraded through the cruel gallery of the world...
each smile a blade,
each tender word a bell tolling my demise.
The sight of thee, entwined with him,
was agony refined...
a theatre of delight built upon the bones of my devotion.
And still, I envied not thy gaiety;
for laughter so swift is seldom pure,
and hearts that heal too soon were never truly broken.

So yes, I confess it...I hate thee.
I hate thee with a passion both divine and diseased,
a fever that consumes yet grants no death.
But even in hate, I shall not wish thee ruin;
for to love such as thou art is punishment enough.

Go, then...
seek thy solace in shallow waters,
and let my memory drown in peace.
I shall withdraw from thy orbit,
from the sun that burned too bright to warm.
And in that silence,
perhaps I shall find a gentler truth:
that deliverance often wears the face of loss,
and not ending up with thee
was the kindest fate the heavens could bestow.

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