A Rose Turned Black, Can Still Dare To Hope
Author: G.C.M. (aka Romantic Torment)
The rose has turned black,
the red has bled out.
This romance is dead,
so painful it turned out.
There are things that you’ve done,
and things that you’ve said
It’s all just too much
to forget and forgive.
It’s hard to image,
your lies brought me comfort.
It’s hard to believe,
your heart was ever sincere.
I gave you everything,
only to be left with nothing.
How could you be so cruel,
when I was always there for you?
Don’t try to deny it,
You pushed us to this.
Don’t try to fight it,
We’re done with this.
And I’ve paid the price,
to see us through.
And now I bare these scars,
for enduring you.
Do you bare any guilt?
Do you feel any remorse at all?
Do you feel pain and regret,
or do you feel nothing at all?
Somehow,
I will survive this
Somehow,
I will absolve this
And breath again (without you)
I’m gonna go,
(I swear)
and leave this all behind.
(I swear)
So I’m through, we’re through!
(I swear)
With bittersweet regrets,
and broken dreams,
A fragile heart
can still dare to hope.
********************
Bound no longer by you,
captivated no longer by you.
I taste my blood.
and see sweet red again.
© 2010 by G.C.M. (aka Romantic Torment)
Time
Author: G.C.M. (aka Romantic Torment)
Time is not consciously cruel,
nor is Time necessarily a friend.
Always a neutral party,
it remains unbiased to the end.
Time, ever enigmatic,
and questionably pragmatic.
Leaves us blind-sighted,
more often then far-sighted.
Builder of dreams,
and destroyer of hopes.
Timely miracles delivered,
yet untimely disasters we must cope.
Eternal heart of lovers be ever guarded,
and youthful souls ever strong as stone.
For given all things their due,
Time shall also, ultimately, find you.
Created, aborted.
Diminished, replenished.
Stardust to life, all things are made;
Death reduces back to ashes, from whence it came.
So, for woe, or for praise.
For the worth of a moment,
or priceless memories to save.
Time will endure all, to insure all.
So spend your borrowed time wisely.
© 2010 by G.C.M. (aka Romantic Torment)
Untitled
Status: Rough Draft / Not Edited
Created/Written: 4.06.10
Author: G.C.M. (aka Romantic Torment)
One last moment,
before the sun sets
To feel Heaven’s graceful kiss
across my loins and lips.
One last time,
would I have silk encase my shaft
dispersing all my woes,
and justifying the vitality of my being.
For an embrace of such succor,
sweet and delicious ambrosia
does passion alone quench such a thirst.
For parched my body has been,
obsessed with fantasies my mind,
to such an extent as to weaken the
resolve of my heart;
and cave in my willpower,
and dismantle my morals with the sheer
weight of desire and hunger for her body.
Surely I am damned,
for I cannot resist.
I profess I am an addict
to the ever burning fire
and comfort yielded by a woman’s entanglement.
Engaging in throws of erotic pleasure,
fulfilling the burning lust that would otherwise
drive us mad.
For the sake alone to hear her moans of ecstasy
and to know I helped create and induce it,
is enough alone for me to live in proverbial sin.
I will not be denied.
Just one last time.
To feel her warmth around me,
and the rapture of our union
tear all else asunder and be damned
For in these blissful and sexual moments,
I alone feel like a God.
© 2010 by G.C.M. (aka Romantic Torment)
The Unconventional Truth of End Life
Author: G.C.M. (aka RomanticTorment)
My tears have dried to dust
My heart has turned cold
All my hopes have been dashed,
and all my dreams too old.
I’ve no arms to hold me tight,
I’ve no lips to kiss tenderly goodnight.
I can barely recall the feel of Nature’s fire
I can barely recall the touch I so terribly desired.
How do I go on,
when my world is so empty?
How do I go on,
when all that I love is no longer with me?
I try to be strong,
but the effort is diminished.
By the hypocrisies and lies,
we’re all so secretly proud to relinquish.
Wasted effort,
to a practicality hard to accept.
Sorrow’s aching pain,
makes even Misery’s tenacity pale.
I’ve no innocent smiles that will warm me,
I’ve no mirthful humor to even enlighten me.
I can barely recall the priceless worth of a gaze,
I can barely recall the blissfulness of a summer day.
My memories now only plague me,
my recollection of events a tragic blur.
My body, now true to age, betrays me,
to a life that seems bashfully absurd.
Yet, a life lived is still a life worth having,
and in that I still somehow cherish it.
Wistful abandonment also adds weight to say:
‘I regret nothing, and shall regretfully miss everything.’
© 2010 by G.C.M. (aka Romantic Torment)
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