Sunday, April 10, 2011

Two sonnets


I know I’m not your only one and only.
   I know I shouldn’t sulk when we’re apart.
I know it shouldn’t hurt when I feel lonely.
   I know it in my head, but not my heart.
And heart trumps head whenever I’m with you.
   I can play games with logic--I can say
That’s who you are until my face is blue
   And it won’t help, because, at end of day, 
There’s always one spare arrow in your quiver--
   There’s always someone else shaking your tree, 
Someone you smile at as he makes you shiver
   And drop the same fruit that you drop for me.
      You’re never false when you give in to passion--
      You’re always true, but only in your fashion.


Your silence slaps me like an accusation:
  It screams to me that I’ve said something wrong
Or done something to earn this isolation.
  Your distance is a cliff from which, headlong,
I plummet to despair.  I want a knife
  To cut away this paralyzing shame.
Without your smile to bring me back to life,
  I drown in doubt.  When will you say my name?
Tell me--convict me--what drove you away?
  What was the tick that you found sickening?
I’ll sell my soul to bring back yesterday.
  I will apologize for anything.
     Torture and poison both seem heavenly
     Next to the hell of you rejecting me.

Copyright 2011 Matthew J Wells

1 comment:

Horvendile said...

Depressed much, MW?