Tag Archives: requited love

The Translation of Deceit and The Temptation of Desire

Lost in Translation…


Just words,


Just words…


It is commonly understood,


Is universal,

Felt by all,

Yet is it?

Now I am not so sure,


The very embodiment of that passionate urge,

The swelling surge,

That is as uncontrollable as the tides or gravity

And impossible to purge;

For here I am,

On wounded knee,


Having given all of me,

And willing to give so much more,

Tempted by another’s fruit,

As the story goes,

I was,

Knowing what I was doing was wrong,

Persisting still,

Not knowing that it was to get worse,

As all things forbidden usually do;


Reassured by your tender words,

The trance like innocence conveyed,

That betrayed the festering truth deep within,


Those you thought I wanted to hear,

Penetrating so,

Knowing I wanted to hear truth,

Not momentary,

But everlasting,

Convinced that what you held for me was real,

Compounded by those words you said to me,

Mocking temptress,

Vicious villain leaving me caught unaware,

In that moment,

Perhaps you expected me to say something different,

Perhaps hoping I would,

Is that the case?

I guess I’ll never know,

And in light of what has come to light,

I now don’t care.

In love,

You let me float on cloud high,

Nine and silver lined,

Seemingly higher than I have ever been before,

Realizing now the manic apparitions,

When with those words you changed me,

In an instant,

Looking into the future,

And whole lives flashing before my eyes,

My imagination wild with expectancy,




As names resonated through my head,

Through my fingers,

Touching my pursed lips,

Kissing life,

Trying to find the one meaning,

That could somehow compliment what I believed we had,

But did we ever?


Your deception now clear,

Intention however lost,

Despite my over thinking.

Now what I am left to consider,

As my heart cries out,

Like a lone lemming,

In search of family,

The family I believed I was starting,

That you let me believe for too long,

Was going to be real,


In love,

A child conceived of love,

But do you know what love is?

As poison dripped from your lips,

Seeping into my veins,

And killing me from within,

For that which I could not be without,

The manipulation of my desires, dreams and aspirations,

The game you play,

Not just on me,

But all.

Do you know what love is?

Truly inside your heart and soul?
Nay, simply the wicked game,

Played by your insecurities,

Those measured imperfections,

Shadows of shadows,

Wherein you hide,

Mata Hari to your own needs,



Never satiated,,

By your own despotic evil,

Webs of deception,

As in my hurt,

My eyes wide open,

Availed once more,

Of the piercing screams of my dark companion,



That woeful Black Dog.

Left to understand what you never will,

For love would not do what you have done,

Could not,

Let me feel the way I felt,

Let me believe what I did,

Including as cannon fodder,

Our families both,

A lifetime,


A loving girlfriend, wife and mother,

The most wonderful present you offered,

And as a man, I was ready,

To stand up,

Doing whatever necessary,

To support our burgeoning family,

Nothing I would not do,


And I would have been for you.

But no more,

Given the chance,

No more,

Given the chance,

No more shall I beg a fool,

For surely you are,

I was;

All that you wanted and more,

Instead blinded by your own iniquity,

A fanciful insanity,


Not unlike my own,

Though I never had a malicious thought, nor action,


But for you, I was pawn,

And you were Queen and King,

Making a jester of my thoughts and desires,

Deeper into the burrow of your sham.

All that I am,


For all of you,

For each other,

For our families,

For our child,

The full spirit of love exposed,


And then repressed,

As now tempered reason,

And lies exposed,

Reveal no burgeoning translation would ever be,


Wandering lost,

In cultural differences,

Secret life,


Yours now reveal,

Very real,

Though now free,

Stinging my broken heart,

Crushing my wounded spirit,



That will never be answered,

Or will they?

Seemingly the truth has set me free…

Uncertainty brash and deeply hurting,

A fragment of the man I was,

To become the man I will be,

Not for you,

But for a love requited,


Understood beyond the words so meaningless to you,

Hmong Key,

The ‘Key’ indeed, you were,


Ones never lost,

In translations!



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Challenging Contradictions

Challenging contradictions,
Juxtapositions and superstitions,
How can one love so much,
And in the same neuron firing incident,
Find a nagging pain that tears at the soul,
Tears streaming down a face,
Hardened by a life of a desire,
Forged by a life of challenge,
Drawn and withdrawn,
Laying on a bed of discontent,
Seeking to understand the unfathomable,
Seeking the address that which is beyond,
Love falls to the way side,
And yet filters back up through the proverbial spring of life,
Every thought one has of the yearned for prize,
Requited love,
Kisses that flow like the tides,
Touches that burn like the sun,
Sweet and gentle love,
Wildly passionate and throbbing love,
O why,
Must you be so transient?
Must you abandon?
Must you die?
As Hemingway said;
“True love can never end happily,”
Sentiments that resonate with every fiber of a lovers being,
For the choices are stark,
Your lover may die,
Or your lover may fade into retraction,
Either way,
A waterfall of treacherously maligned emotions,
The once soothing and succulent advance,
Of love,
Sugary like toffee,
Sticking to your insides,
As you lick your fingers,
Trying to get every last bit of goodness,
Only to discover,
That a once dream like fantasy,
Is now the war of the roses?
Minus the war,
And minus the roses,
A stalemate,
Though not peace,
Where art thou Lady Justice in love?
The once greatest success of the soul,
Now the tortured failure of living each day,
Without you,


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Lunatic Fringe – A Departure from the Norm

Now examined! And LIVING!

Now examined! And LIVING!

Thoughts like a piano’s keys filter through both my conscious and subconscious, striking a chord that only the demons of my own creation can hear. Flittering fingers plucking the keys of my own discord, disquieted, frightened, the black and ebony reminiscent of an Icelandic tribe. In this case, ebony representing good memories and black representing bad. My black cup runneth over while the ebony is so difficult for me to enjoy as the darkness reigns.

Though I fear I am without control as they filter through me like blood, water, neurons firing and synapses attempting shock therapy. Temporary relief from memories that deviate from that thin line.

The deprivation of sleeps causing hallucinations of the most horrible originations. Apparitions that beckon me to death, a death I die a thousand times or more daily, as I struggle with the infinite and the quantum. It does not get easier, as I age, as more questions mount and the answers become more reticent.

A less than subtle requirement  for this fractured mind to put itself back together again only to discover that the final piece is missing. Where is that piece? What is that piece? As I throw my Black Dog a bone I am left to consider more than a poetic soul should have to bear. Though I do. I cry out to Apollo, God (He/She/It/They), Oracle, Prophets, where pray tell is my burning bush?

A nightmare, the nightmare, nightmares that harm my own personal recollection of self. Reflections on Reflections.

Mirror images of a life once lived but in the pursuit of the joy of others where now there is no joy that I can submit. For no longer will I subjugate my own self-preservation so that another may soar. It is my turn to allow these apparitions and nightmares to guide me, freeing me, to unleash a furious torment of words that dance across your eyeballs like Fred and Ginger. Those same words that handcuff me like an as yet prosecuted fool.

When at the witching hour, the stroke of midnight, I’m yet to become anew the pumpkin that cradles me and prevents the world from the stringy innards of a dastardly conviction to which you are not a party. No. The spirits of my ancestors and the voices in my head, press me forth, through dialogues that would confuse even the most wise of sage, unnerve even the most prolific of prophets and may in fact be the desecration of the godly appreciation of all that I hold dear.

Or maybe, just maybe, this is the lunatic fringe of my own self awareness as I trod ever closer to the demise of sanity, slipping into a world where I am no longer king but instead jester, holding court over my own self. I and I and I agree for once though my fingers will continue…

To flicker.

And flicker they have. Leading me back to life. Leading me to a land far, far away from home, to find a new home, a place where I belong, a place where I can truly live and not merely exist.

Freed now from the torment of pharmaceutical intervention and instead liberated by the triumphant power of requited love. Given back my life in the most unexpected of ways. By you, those children, those that have released me from a lifelong burden of sorrow.

While the bitch still barks, and is black as night, I have reason, meaning and purpose and this has given me back my life and I am living it. No longer afraid. No longer hiding in the corner but instead standing on a soap box teaching the most wonderful life lessons that I have learned to those that need it most. The next generation.

So while the night is long and the terror is real I am pleased beyond measure to admit that the fringe of this lunatic, while still intact, has harnessed his potential and found the will to carry on, at all costs, for those who hold me dear.


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