Romantic Hopelessness


The stars are drifting now like doves,
Floating ’round the moon above.
Down below, a lone knight sits,
His muscles twitch in little fits.
Crystal armor sits at the ready,
As does his steed, swift and steady.
He’s waiting, watching silently,
Waiting for transparency.
He needs to know what next to do,
For every promise he carries through.
Silver threads shoot from the moon,
Explaining in code that he must
Find a fair maid and gain her trust
By being brave, courageous, just.
He dons his armor, mounts his steed,
And sets out so steadfastly
To find a maiden, complete his quest,
And only then may he rest.
As he rides, he does remember
A maiden beautiful, fair, and tender.
He remembers from his past
His love for her that ever would last,
And so he must find this girl
Who singly comprised his world.
No one else did he need,
And so onward he drove his steadfast steed.
Swiftly to the land he rode
Where nothing now would ever grow.
One single, solitary crow
Greeted the knight as he did find
The wasteland of some twisted mind.
Burning lakes and bare grey trees
Set a trembling to his knees.
His mighty steed then faltered slightly,
As would any horse do rightly.
Gathering courage, the knight continued on,
Only to find the village gone,
Except for the houses ruined,
Full of mud and mire and sewage.
Walking through the bare ghost town,
The knight then happened to look down,
And there, lying on the ground:
A small blue scrap from some girl’s gown.
Up ahead lie another,
A trail was made, blessedly clever
Was the girl who was seemingly captured.
The knight, he ran, so enraptured
By this discovery.
He soon came upon a stand of trees,
A dark and desperate den for thieves,
And within, there was a band
Of murderous outlaws, knives in hand.
Sure enough, the girl was there,
With bright blue eyes and long dark hair,
Tied to a tree,
Guarded by three
Whose menacing eyes
Glinted dangerously
As they beheld the crystal knight,
Whose armor glinted in bright moonlight
As he rushed forward in a rage,
Dashing madly into the glade.
Swinging sword. Battle cry.
Bones were crushed and blood did fly.
Soon every evil man was dead,
Each lying with a severed head.
Stepping over to the girl,
The knight sliced the ropes that bound.
Grateful to be finally found,
The girl gasped in great surprise
When she looked into his eyes.
“My knight, ’tis you! You’ve come for me!” she cried.
A smile the knight didn’t try to hide.
“Aye, milady, ’tis I who comes,
Alas, with neither fife nor drum.
I followed the trail of your dress,
Forgive me for the bloody mess,”
The knight replied.
“I felt someone my trail would guide,
Though I hardly dared to dream
My bonny knight would come for me.”
The girl was then swept up by
Her bonny knight with shining eyes.
He’d completed the tests,
And so also his quest,
And carried his maiden won
Upon his steed into the dawn.

Untitled No. 21

Every earthly realm has ended,
Broken promises left untended,
All along he had pretended,
And broke her heart to leave unmended.
Her life was left gaping wide,
No happiness resides inside.
Her days are spent breathing sighs,
And writing twisted lullabies.
Little babies cherished
Every day do perish.
Once-innocent rejected souls
Are buried deep in dirt-filled holes.
She’d met him many months ago,
She’d trusted him with all she owned.
But his intentions were less than low.
He used her, left her, let her go.
She buried her trust in a dirty grave,
And with it, her childish innocence.
Her heart to find, her soul to save,
She guards the grave with diligence.
A wanderer comes to the grove,
Wherein is her tiny home.
The sorry figure beneath the tree
Looked up into the eyes of he.
In the deep orbs of flashing green
She felt as if they’d known each other,
They knew all that they each had seen,
As if they’d been together forever.
With her hands, she dug the dirt,
And soon withdrew a box of blue.
“It isn’t much, and not of much worth,
But I feel as I should give it to you.”
The man, not much more than a boy,
Looked at the girl forlorn.
Inside the box was no mere toy,
But soul, and dreams, and trust, all torn.
“These gifts are far too great for me,
Yet I cannot see them broken.”
He sewed the pieces all smooth and sweet,
As soon as he had spoken.
A measure of trust, a handful of dreams,
A single soul, he’d all the means.
He could accept the simple emblems,
And take her home to wed,
Or he could drop them in the leaf-loam,
Rendering her dead.
The girl watched, trembling,
Her fears shone in her face.
The wandered kissed the tiny tokens,
Gathering her in an embrace.
“You don’t deserve such broken things,
Such pain, or such deep sorrow.
You make my very heart-strings sing,
Now let the dawn bring forth tomorrow.”
She smiled at his whispered words,
And sunk into his arms so safe.
He held her close, so closely,
And saw the smile on her face.

Walking Wooded Byways

Walking wooded byways,
Hidden from the highways.
The girl, she talked her own way,
For she was all alone anyway.
Speaking to herself about
Trying to learn not to doubt,
Or her very soul could melt
And catch on fire and then go out.
Giving her wayward soul a talk,
She hardly noticed how sad her walk
Was becoming.
Wayward soul
And wayward eyes.
Wayward curls,
A wayward mind.
Mischievous smiles shone through dreary dim,
Denying both her happiness and sin.
Her morbid past forgotten,
She whispers as she’s walking,
Her clever features mocking
The one she knows is stalking,
Plodding along behind.
Persistent always this man was,
And she knew this fact because
She’s known him all her life
And with him she was in love.
Her dilemma here was simple:
Their ranks of life askew.
He was far above her class,
How well this fact she knew.
Her steps have quickened,
The fog has thickened.
Still he follows,
Building her sorrows.
Her downcast visage
Reflects her mission:
Escape her past.
Be free at last.
Live life unmasked.
She’d forget quickly,
Keep walking briskly,
She must escape.
In all her wayward years
She’d never known her fears
As much as now.
“Please, my love, stop!
Turn around and look at me!”
His words struck daggers through her heart,
Each syllable was like a dart,
Tearing through and ripping at her soul.
“Please, please, come back to me!”
He called in such a woeful state,
That herself she now did hate
For bringing him, her love, so much pain.
Continuing on with greater speed,
Her dirty feet,
Her barefoot steed
Trembled slightly with the need
Of a rest.
“‘Tis only jest,”
She thought aloud.
In front of him there was a cloud,
He couldn’t want her,
A lowly pauper.
It wasn’t proper,
Nor could it be true.
He had all riches,
She had but stitches.
Every time he called, her flinches
Wracked her body, paused her step.
Running quickly, now she wept.
She heard his footfalls now approaching.
Quickly, swiftly, now encroaching
All her fear, all her pain.
What, with her, could he gain?
He caught her arm and stopped her there,
Capturing her with his stare.
Her wayward soul
And wayward eyes,
Her wayward curls
And wayward mind
All seemed to him most beautiful and perfect.
“My dearest, please,
Don’t run from me,”
He whispered in a pleading sort of way.
“Why should you want me?
I’m less than nothing,”
She quietly replied.
Her eyes downcast,
Her heart outcast.
He could hardly stand to see her cut and bleeding hands,
Torn from tripping in her haste to get away.
“You surely aren’t nothing.
You always were something.
Don’t you see?
You’re everything to me.”
At his words she turned away,
Her white countenance turned to grey.
“Forget me,” she said.
“Go and find and take the hand
Of some princess in the land.
She’d like you, surely,
Maybe even love.”
“Princesses are high and mighty,
Stupid, selfish, vain, and flighty.
I could never wed one rightly,
Even in my troubled mind.
It’s you I love,
I always have.
Since we played as children,
I always have forbidden
The thought of choosing anyone but you.
Marry me, and be my pride,
My beautiful and perfect bride.”
She couldn’t erase him,
And so she faced him,
Tears tracking through the grime
Upon her face.
Seeing him, her soul did melt,
And catch on fire.
She waited an instant, only to find
That the fire burned bright, strong, real.
Deeper love she could not feel.
“I ran away because of you.
I’ve loved you, but you never knew.
Society’s the only thing to blame.
They’d put you out, and cast you down,”
She said, in spite of her soul’s flame.
“Send Society to heck.
I will never answer to their beck
And call,”
He said, and gently, with his fingers,
Wiped away the dirt that lingered
On her cheeks.
“With Society now gone,
Between us now their is but one
Thing standing.
You have not answered yet, my dear.
Please say yes, and be my wife,
Make me the most blessed man alive.”
Whispering silently to her soul,
She found her answer, her fears were old
And dead, forgotten.
Now nothing was left stopping
Her from love.
“Yes,” she said,
Lifting her head.
“Your wife I’ll be,
And you shall see
How much I’ve loved you all these years,
And forever I’ll forget my fears.”
And so he kissed her softly, gently,
So tenderly and gentlemanly.
Then took her hand and turned around,
And led her home o’er stony ground,
They quietly talked their own way,
As close together now they stayed,
Upon the wooded byway,
Hidden from the highway.

A Conversation That Took Place During The Great Depression

-“However will we pay the rent?
For it surely won’t pay itself.”
-“We’ll save our pennies in a jar
That we keep on the kitchen shelf.”
-“What will we eat? What will we wear?
What about food and clothes?”
-“We can always make do or do without,
But we have friends, and can’t do without those.”
-“The animals must be tended,
The garden needs to grow,
I’ve too many things that need mended,
And where’d all our savings go?”
-“I’ll look after the creatures,
God will grow your plants.
Forget all the mending and money,
But for now, let me have this dance.”
-“Why have you asked someone like me,
When I should have been looked over?”
-“Because you’re the best, you’ll always be,
And you’re worth me dyin’ over.”
-“But, dear, the disappointed are now depressed,
The country’s sure in a bind.”
-“Forget the depressions and countries in binds,
For now, won’t you just be mine?”
-“You’re a funny, odd sort of guy,
Different than all the rest.
But nevertheless, I love you
Far more than I’m depressed.”

©The Wild Poesy, 2012-2015. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited.

Romantic Hopelessness

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