Down On My Luck

A Tortured Poet’s Regret — No4

Photo by VENUS MAJOR on Unsplash

poems laced my veins,
one by one by one —
eternally, without end,
as if the words would save me.

i asked for some kind of absolution
through your eyes, through your eyes —
but no calling card ever came, did it,
my love of thankless years?

i wanted the words to be the be-all, end-all —
but there was a masterpiece called you
at the end of the hall,
taunting me each and every day.

did i think i’d ever be the one
to stand up for your worth?
did i think i’d ever be the one
to satisfy all your endless cravings?

but each day i tried, oh, i tried —
as if there were a solemn vow
underscored in my history,
taunted in my blasphemy.

and every day i came to the end
of the story and wondered why,
just why,
as if there were something missing.