Through the long classes,
filled with intoxicating noise-pollution
and fading attention, we found mutual adoration,
Remember, my crass stubbornness created us;
never did I fuss or dispute a point
which in any possible outcome
I had never loved before you.
marvelous professor of the unspeakable arts,
the Muse of secret languages of the intertwined hearts;
upon first glance I was yours.
An ancient man,
panning the world for something innately more.
Panning the room you lay upon me.
though I am only there in spirit
(resonating in my old classroom-
a known and comfortable stain upon it),
and not in flesh,
I remain, and must confess,
I'd rather the real thing.
your world an Ocean shoreless;
a vessel in distress, or sunk forever.
Castaway mess under uncharted waves.
Hair blonde, smooth as water-trodden sand;
the land and all upon it quakes in your wake.
All Foundlings before you-
the knowledgable Muse to our world.
In my world, you were more,
for you were an exquisite object,
a fine linen.
where others could buy your secrets
with age and similarities,
too young to taken as
unfairly picked up your scraps
and held them in my Brest pocket.
Age kept me from your Sagely Kingdom.
I learnt what I could from distance,
and hidden devout obsession.
All parts of my Masquerade shrouding my
Yet we grew together in minute detail,
new stories were brought to trial;
I would pray, and you would affirm
that all would remain okay.
Forever, which I now know
is the World's tragic farce,
harnessed this fervor inside of me,
leading me on a forever crash-course into
Love was my savior named Lucifer.
You sold me on these devilish desires.
We lived through our eyes, and distance,
you play my requiem at 3pm,
when your room is deathly quiet
and no artificial light dare pay me
I know you loved me,
even if it wasn't the right way.
The way I was devout
you divine beauty.
Tall, man of the Arts
for the sake of his sanity.
Eyes; Oculus of souls,
that's how you saw me.
Common, but so extraordinarily
that you remained singularly special.
Locks different from day-to-day,
another length, parted another way,
relaxing and tensing then another wave of calm.
I remember that if ever you were
plagued with distress,
pestilence of a family matter,
or numbing work stress,
the tempo of your trepidation
matched the terrific calm before the storm.
Could anything make you cry?
I believed in you; all you spoke
was my holy book and I spread your word.
Many came to you in wonder,
to hear you, then ponder
the mystic properties in your sensual
pitch and thought.
When you saw my casing,
the frilly girl-child lace
that was held together by hope
and smelt of desire, you were wrong
for the first time.
You believed me to adore you,
"Father", "great Knower", or " old Non-believer."
But I'd rather call you Dear;
never to admit and deem you as less.
I suppose, if gifted with obsession,
and petite sensuality,
you could have loved me,
and admission would have been mutual.
But, I am no Lolita,
no sun-kissed darling,
no care-free starling in braids.
Yes I was falling for your games,
and what a shame it is that
I could not have fallen
gracefully into your warm arms.
I fell kneeling at your feet,
never gaining your attention freely
but ever so often when you felt needy.
I looked too old,
and you were sold on another fantasy.
I spoke much like those you already knew
and you chose to keep me down,
not to stand in arm beside you.
I know we could have been caught,
but if we passionately fought,
we could have together been free-
wait, I forgot,
you hadn't loved me.
And so, I end.
I must move on,
though I'd much rather rust
in your presence,
for ages on pages like these.
I leave in body, only a lonely
hull remains sitting quietly in your room
when you arrive early before the crowd,
or after its loud, pulsating mass leaves you
alone with your mistakes and heartaches;
after my requiem fades
and the lights begin to blind your eyes,
I will surface.
And maybe then,
you will feel the real me
and cry for what you have killed.