This writing is dedicated to all those that are, for one reason or another, missing their perfect loves–but these loves wish to have nothing to do with ya(S).
Please remember, during the moments you may feel so isolated in pain, loss, despair, grief, or in tribulation–you are never alone. From time to time, many of us have been there, and many now share that same type of pain too.
If there is any solace in misery, it is that you are still alive. Life is the key to hope, with life–there’s hope. Always remember that LIFE = HOPE while DEATH = FINAL. One day at a time, keep living–nothing is guaranteed in life, but it beats the alternative guarantee found in death.
Additionally, this writing is dedicated to missing perhaps the most exceptional person I ever had the opportunity to meet and spend some great times with. For one reason or another, I’m not really sure exactly why, but it appears those days are over. Although a harsh reality, pass/fail endeavors can only end up either as victory or bust. So, one must willingly take the risk to ever have any chance to gain the reward.
On the work itself, one could classify it as a “poem” if they choose to do so. Yours truly avoids writing “poems.” Why? Well, in simplest terms, poetry is difficult, it is a hard task to write good or great poems. In the purest form, verse requires proper use of concepts such as alliteration, anapest, meters, couplets, dactyls, and decasyllables. Of course, one must not just what a “meter” is–but also how to properly utilize a chosen “meter.” Hence, admittingly, my knowledge of poetry reaffirms my novice status.
Regardless of how the reader chooses to define the non-poem poem below, the words come from the heart. In truth, learning to express the inner-most feelings to the world is a new concept to me, it’s also scary. However, to become a better writer and a better person requires the ability to express the real-self without fear.
Finally, the following is also dedicated to missing my perfect, my kinda f*cked up:
A Heartless Holiday
As I lay down hopeful to sleep,
all my restraint to avoid a weep.
Abruptly, a yearning appeared in my head,
“Your heart will remember,” this faith said.
The most beautiful of dreams dance in my mind,
but these were fabrications of a reality–blind.
A new journey is soon to start,
of holidays coveting a missing heart.
For I would awake to a great fear
of craving a soul nowhere near.
I waited until the glorious disappointing bitter end–
for words–a precious lost heart would never send.