April 2018 – Vitrioli Ltd.

Walking into to town the others see me coming.
They turn with askance at my rider who sways to and fro.
Head down to shun the sun with the brill of his cap.
Though I be the sober, he be the other.

Drinking water from my trough, he journey’s to the bar.
Avoiding the others at stools end.
Deep in contemplation he seems to be.
Not a glance up, nor the tip of a cup.

Back on the saddle he sways to meet the days end.
Leaving town they bid farewell and see his hollowed eyes.
Not knowing whither to he goes, or from whence he came.
We leave prompt all the same and he asks for no ones name.

I steer him here and there as if I know the way myself.
Wishing on the stars we meet our journey’s end on the moon itself.

What sort of love is this?
Do you think of me when the morning dew hits?
In my arms do you feel any bliss,
A sudden need for a kiss?
There is love, but of what kind?
Confused passion for we are blind.
We are the scars left on another over time.
Or have we settled-assuming true love we’ll never find?
I feel no warmness from you.
When times of happiness are seldom few.
Why do we return expecting something new?
My inmost thoughts you pretended you knew.
I don’t want love like your movies on lifetime.
You should already know me without a lifeline.
I wish we had met at the right time,
Never really felt you to be all mine.
You fight yourself from change.
Both of us can’t seem to act our age.
But I somehow found a way,
Into my soul- things I cannot convey.

If this is what I’m left with,
I’ll have nothing at all.
Love has become some myth
Leading me unto the Fall.

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Month: April 2018

The Pale Rider

If I Could Give You the Stars and Outer Space