Coffee has a bitter taste ...

Coffee has a bitter taste;
But not the coffee that you make.
Teas can soothe me, I have my quite a lot, but serenity has a name, yours, in fact, and I love you quite, quite, quite a lot.

I don't like flu vaccines, needless aren't for me,
But there is no vaccine against how deeply your humour penetrates my soul and heart, and for good measure, bounces about.

And kindness is a word, quite rare.
Often a cue to naivety.
But your kindness itself is rare, and overwhelms me,
A force of great strength, not a thing weakness, nor simple nor of naivety.

And, though I might miss the odd social cue,
You write and speak, well mannered, and full of courtesy,
You'd put much of nobility and many a belle to shame,

All, while wiser than Odysseus, with a keener observation than Machiavelli, and a goodness even angels would cherish, as your penchant is to bravely follow the paths where they would fear to tread.

I am ever in awe of you, my aeviternal Lovely. I am ever in love with you, my eternal Love.

Souls entwine, fates unite, but seldom does a soul so still.

A poem inspired by the beautiful Terry-Louise, my love.

Souls entwine, fates unite,
But seldom does a soul so still.
Never does its essence hold,
Yet ever it does,
As days unfold,
And my future entwined,
It holds on, in you.

Your voice makes all good things true,
Your absence holds me like a grave,
And a grave thing, any sadness is,
For your single tear floods all my world.

In your soul, my soul delights,
Your joy fills my hope and love,
And love, I feel, every part of my form,
And love I feel, for every part of your form,
Every part of your mind,
Every curve of your soul.

And my deep waters, their depths, you still.
And my turbulent ripples, tides and troubles,
And my deep, deep ripples, even they are still,
They have peace, in your peace, in your hope, and love.
Love, in your love, I remain. I hold time itself, still.
And in you I am content. My soul, is stilled.

Happiness, or something alike ...

I see your smile
You're happy now.
I was happy once.
Your hand, resting upon mine,
Your heat, touch, made me smile.

I saw perfection in you, though imperfect,
Like a solider, I'd have died for my Trojan Helen,
But she never returned the favour, to the many who did.
Obscurity took them,
Obscurity took me, for you do not utter my name.

I miss your arm in mine,
I regret the lack,
That your presence is not.
I see you smile,
You've fallen in love again,
You fall so easily, for every sort of brutish man,
You've forgotten my presence,
My soft, subtle self,
Not the brute, but the poet.

You were the raison d'être for my hope,
My craving, my mote,

And for many a year, my substitute for forever,
Now but a banshee heralding my soul's hopeless depths,

And where I once asked for sugar,
I now ask for salt.
For sweetness would burn my soul.

Void ...

It happened again,
An impulse,
A moment,
A weakness,

I didn't contain my inner angels,
As they sang a tune of hope,

And out it poured,
Emotion, truth even.

And like oil, it caught fire,
Blackness, flames, smoke.

And words cannot be withheld,
And I said it, something true. Something felt.
A most beautiful emotion, a thought.

And a hydra formed of flames,
And a naked whiteness burnt my vision.

And I sat, bare feet upon solid ground,
Swaying like smoke.

Void, empty, null.

And nothing was left yet for hope.

I want ...

Grey is the fog of love and of war,
She's often been there, so why do I ... want ... more?
I want ... to grasp her ... in the darkest dark of the witching hour,
To hold her tight, in the brightest light of day.
And, perhaps, I want to be led quite astray.

And as Cinderella's clock strikes,
And takes her magic away,
My imperfect love, who I now prefer,
I want to feel her warmth permeate my life.

And in the darkness of the early morning,
As somehow I am yet to sleep,
My blanket tight, my pet cat upon my duvet, my pillows soft and soothing,
Staring into the tundra of night,

I imagine her, in the echoes of mine,
I dream of her as a mother to my future offspring, as my wife,
And I far from abhor the dreamy sight,

And yet, she's furniture, and there's history,
And what if these new feelings suddenly take flight,
And I could not forsake her in pursuit of night,

And what ... if, heaven forbid, it is somehow then but on one side,
We often fight, and we also do delight,

Yet, I want ... to grasp her, in day and night.

And 'I love you', means nothing,
Just words of might ... she often says them, day and night,
To me. Surely, just wind, not the force of oceans, and sight?

Yet I want ...

And I keep silent, for she speaks my name, and I delight.

The world, it is not for me

The world, it is not for me,
There is beautiful poetry about chasing me into the sea,
And every blame that can be laid, surely, they fit right on me,
I am unwelcome in my country,
As is truth, but it means so little.

Injustice is celebrated,
Genuine cares obliterated.

And justice, my life's pursuit,
A mockery. A sham.

Honey lipped deceivers flourish,
And the ignorant are allowed to govern,
But I am guiltless,
At least for now,
I am at peace with God, and Mother Earth.

And if not for my love of God, I'd leave the Earth,
What can ever be achieved within its domain.
Like the Titans, it eats its offspring,
And the world, is but a trap,
Waiting to draw you in.

I believed your lies once,
But your ideals were false and self serving,
Foolish me, I guess,
But I still believe in ideals.
Just not yours. Yours are false lies.

Wealth is illusion.
Just the right dry spell, and all is quickly lost.
And poverty can be quickly alleviated,
Or, so we are told, by those who make it all the worse.
By those after others' wealth.

Devil's tales are spun so well,
And the masses buy into them,
And kill for them,
And hate for them,
Oh, how good it is to feel so righteous and to hate,
To hate the innocent as the devil,
To retell history,
And to tell all good they've done as a foul tale,
And the benefits you have as reparation, and act of God, good fortune,
Never theft. But it is. It is theft. In your heart, you know it.

I'm unwelcome in my country, I've always been.
I'm better for it, for the things I've seen.

I'm sceptical of the world,
It's a trap, you see.

You signal your virtue over me,
Your ill gotten claims,

But, I have studied history, broadly, and spanning millennia,

Fool that I am, speck of dust I may be,
But my end is something to consider,

As millennia shift, shape, and pass,
You'll only be remembered for your hate.

I'll be forgotten altogether.
At least, by your false world, your soiled histories, you see!
Or, rather, you don't, I think that may be the point.