Yuck

What an upheaval!

My potent rival

I’ve ne’er defeated

Now so ill-fated

What am I to say?

You were such a man

Whose wits I’m a fan

Yet I aimed to beat,

Dethrone from your seat

Why go down this way?

I’ve never outshone—

You—never outgrown

But a stain of shame

You’ve smeared on your name

Is this how you pay?

You’ve had your glory

Now you look gory

Unbelievable…

Unmistakable…

‘You know how to pray?

My former doubts

Is what truth now shouts

But, so I won’t miss,

I should ask you this:

(Yuck, Man…) Are you…?!

*Written after I had a shocking discovery about my former classmate and one-time friend.

Favors From The Clouds

Precious eyes, shun the heavens’ landscape!

Banks of clouds tell an august story

Yet beauty cloys, brings a teary drape…

Why confuse me, troubled ivory?

My sight—cerulean can’t escape!

Prove there’s better use for such glory…

Wait! Please turn not into thunderheads!

Remorse dawns, my countenance ashens…

My soul’s abandoned as futile shreds—

Remnants of misery’s virulence;

Heed my plea from your mercy’s bedsteads!

Defy Foehn’s clout and take no offense…

Troops of mackerel scales and mares’ tails—

Apologies to your pearl-bleached core…

‘Embittered against sunshiny sails

Love—I chased and failed—left me ashore

Cast not gloom on me amidst these gales,

But these hopeless favors I implore…

Don’t obfuscate nor illume my face

For meaningless tearstains form a peeve

Fly not to the dreams of my frail race:

Cloud-cuckoo-land—world of make-believe!

Routed pain’s naught if care’s void of trace,

If blood of magnolia’s doused my sleeve

Take my thoughts, fleecy wisps and balls,

To the one it drains the hourglass for

Rain clouds—unleash your fury with squalls

To her drawn heart’s disquieted door!

Into the eyes of frosted glass’ palls—

Break my state of mind like a downpour!

Am I ranting? ‘Tis nauseating!

‘Sickened by her skies of white blankets

Veil my impetus from this hurting

Remorse peaks! Favors fair—not russets!

Enclose her with fondness I’m saving

Dance my warmth ‘round her castle’s turrets

I bleed yet I yearn! Oh clouds, favor!

My acumen—leaden, overcast—

Trounced by the most indignant fervor…

Will you come back with your silver mast?

Let me touch her skin the next shower?

Save her from remorse for I won’t last…

*It’s just I poem I made from an imagined emotion. It’s never my own emotion at any time. It’s my wish that you, my reader, won’t feel this awful.