Oh, lovely flowers
Greet my nightly song
Upon this starry, starry night
In my bed I see your plight.
What a dream it was
Sharing the love we had
All night long is sweet ever
In your embrace I quiver.
Oh, how lovely you are
To me, is just a fantasy now
As you turn my joy to sadness
You choose money than fondness.
Beauty to me is veiled farce
Love dies when money wise
Insecurities has reason to believe
When heart has no more vision to relieve.
How long this craziness I hide
When no more iota of trust remain
Love is funfare and self-eloquence
As grave is waiting great for a lonely prince.
An abstract dull spirit, amorphous and loose,
Cloudy and irate, possessing the even soul,
Haunts the frail mind and body on the whole
Of the one who fervently chases a wild goose
Firmly believing the strange enigmatic world
Of fancy to be real and divine, demanding all
Venturesome feats such as a sacrificing fall,
And even the human nature whirled or furled,
Or ,lost cornered in a traceless, mazy cavern
Letting the conscience search for the deep
Hurt ego , in pretext and unwilling to return,
But still making a play out of vanity steep:
The worldly Eden has far greater things to seek,
Know,feel selflessly and be Nature's bit, meek .
(Apologies to Shakespeare's sonnet 126)
A night slipped away,
one wept to sleep, one had bunches to dream.
A couple of lines the poet wrote,
nothing that the muse saw.
Three simple words kept the lovelorn up,
four texts sent for a clueless hope.
If love has numbed five senses,
then the sixth one will be gifted.
The seven deadly sins, hunger for love could be all.
The ninth day of forlornness ate the soul up,
isn’t it already a punishment?
Perhaps the love in October was forever a torment.
Withdrawn am I, with feelings oh so grim
and melancholy. Ever since he left,
I stay so lonely just recalling him.
My heart is shattered and I feel bereft
as if somebody died though he died not!
Alive and very well is he, and so
I can’t help feeling gloomy, for I’m fraught
with a depression that has brought me low.
It’s like a shroud that’s always over me.
Oh, how I wish to be myself once more!
But then I leave my house and chance to see
that new girl with the man I still adore.
I see no signs that show he might still care.
No wistful flicker in his eye is there.
May 31, 2023
for Emile Pinet's Eight Word Challenge Poetry Contest
Note: The eight words required, in any order, are:
wistful... withdrawn... grim... melancholy... shroud... depression... gloomy...feelings
Alone at twilight on a bench
I heard a stirring up above
And looked to see, upon a branch
Were perched a pair of mourning doves
How I wish that they could tell me
What it’s like to have a love
But I knew then as the night befell me
It was far too much to ask them of.
I sit by the moon
and exhale all my zeal
of wanting you one more time
but the pain I don't want to feel
again and again over your imprudence
of not comprehending my love
and slaying my feelings while playing innocence.
#monostich
Am I that much impenetrable,
or does he deliberately refuse to describe?
Why do I have heard all that he never said,
but he fails to realise what I have inscribed?
It's not the void of your absence,
rather you are too full into my heart.
I'm trying to defy your silent presence,
but it's really hard to stay apart.
My pen is paining,
so as my heart.
I'm learning each day from you to be unknown,
but my heart is denying being completely apart.
Oh, you heartless, go far or be mine forever.
Your ferrying is hurting me more.
Will I be free from this ache, ever?
A Lovelorn Lad From Camaron
A lovelorn lad from Camaron
pledged his darling the earth and the moon
When she demanded them now
along with a cow
He fled to the nearest saloon
I am setting you free,
go wherever you want to go, be whoever's beloved you want to be.
I will not bother you with my love anymore.
I will not run towards you like flies towards the fire, I will not adore.
Let the distance takes the place between us if our love is not destined to be.
Oh, my dearest I'm setting you free
like a soul is leaving from a living body;
I'm trying to resolve all these, but still, my soulless body is full of your entity.
I have heard from some lucky peps that mom is your first love...
So why am I lovelorn?
I have heard that you family loves you....
So why am I lovelorn?
I have heard there comes a time in life where you find "THE ONE" who will love you for just the way you are...
I have been with many, but still... Why am I lovelorn?
Is this because I think different?
Is this because I am hard to be understood?
Every time I start to feel that this is it!
I have achieved the Love that I always wanted and I try to hold it tight it just turns into sand and slips out of my fist and then I think again scratching my head and pulling my hair that...
WHY AM I A LOVELORN?
Faint-hearted lass, are you where
Your dreams have placed you?
Not as yet? Not even close
In that otherwise camatose
Wakefulness, Day goads?
Then to this fine sleeper's creed
Are not living true:
"Fear not, nightly wise, as far
What unto The Morning Star. *
New day, new life bodes.
* Venus. Planet of Love
Lovelorn from her,
For days I long to see your face and to hear your voice,
My writing expresses more than love to thee by thee,
As you read every sentence my heart beats and cries for you,
Nevertheless I live until thou shall let thee live and conquer
Lovelorn response from him,
For nights are impossible to sleep and to dream of you,
Nightmares of a bad dream overtook a happy place in my head,
Yet my heart automatically allowed you to take such of a space,
My beating heart follows along till thee shall know like you
A lovelorn piece nicely wrote by a poetess
I wanted this
How'd the problems arise?
She sits there with sadness
In those forlorn eyes
But it's not really sadness that I see
What she's actually doing is pitying me
They move to the wall
I sit there in inexplicable shame
Waiting for those damn eyes to look at me again
Those loves gone eyes, wastelands
Floor, door and then the ceiling
Then back to me again, that sick stomach feeling
I gotta go.
Luckily for the bereft
grieving through darkness alone
dawn is abundantly deft
at its medicinal tone.
When a new morning appears,
duty abruptly commands
focusing thoughts on careers
and some routinized demands.
During distressing ordeals,
structural chores are, of course
spokes on restorative wheels,
turning with rhythmical force . . .
Multiple labors assigned
(whether unique or mundane)
comfort the crestfallen mind
like an elixir for pain.
Physical efforts promote
pleasing endorphins to rise.
Mental endeavors demote
misery’s spirit and size.
Affable people abound,
sharing benevolent goals.
Meaningful purpose is found,
forged in incredible roles.
Muscular hearts can attest
circular time is renowned
for its centrifugal zest,
helping the lovelorn rebound!
E. V. Wyler
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