Love is Lonely

Wachinagi | Free Poems

I never know what time it is



I have no thoughts to express, no feelings to explain, but despite this lack of motivation, my hands insist there is something to say.  I guess I’ll see what’s on their mind:

It seems as though my internal clock is running fast, or perhaps not set correctly.

When I am awake, the world sleeps.  I sleep when they, the world, wakes.  They scurry about like rodents  looking for the crumbs from my dreams.  They feed on my passions, they gorge themselves on my waste.  I wake to find them fat and slow, and I run fleet footed around their bloated forms; almost corpses.  They are so much slower than I am, and they are competing in a crowd of likewise stagnant people.  How they ever hope to become more than this, I can’t imagine.

Then why do I always feel like I am somehow failing?  That somehow they are so much better off than I?

It seems like such a simple thing, to stop running, to feast on garbage, to take and take, give nothing in return.  To horde and scrounge and drool and embrace selfishness.  If I could just do this, I could be as happy as they seem to be.



I have to hold to the idea that they are not happy.  That they, just like me, are just very good at pretending.  That deep inside they are as alone as I am, as constantly sad, and perhaps just as disgusted with themselves.  As long as I can believe this, I can see that it is better to remain fast, free and alone.  As long as I can believe this, I can remain myself.  Someday though, perhaps someday soon, I think I might just give in, give up, and quit running.  If I allow myself a closer look, I’ll see there really is no difference between myself and them.

That’s the thought breaks my heart today.

  This poem is also about:

• depressing love poems
• depressing heartbroken poems
• depressing quotes
• depressing poems about being alone
• depressing poem
• depressing quotes and poems
• depressed poems and quotes
• pretending
• Depressing poems and quotes
• depressing rhymes

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Long Term Memory

It should be long over now.  Years and distance and silence fall between us as an abyss, uncrossable and immeasurably wide.  There should be no trace on you in my thoughts, nor a shadow of you in my memory; Time heals all wounds.

Yet still I can taste your lips on mine, still I can see your face so clearly.  I can track the smell your perfume in a crowd to a single woman, irrationally hoping against hope that it will be you.

It never is.

Years and distance and silence fall between us, and our lives have grown so far apart.

I should be allowed to forget.

I can still smell the heavy air, the trees and the wind.  We were together, and separate.  Connected, and disconnected.  I came because you asked me to, as I always will.  We did our best to create the illusion everyone expected, but I was so tired of those games.  I walked outside, away from that throng of people, just needing that air, and the peace of being alone.  Soon you were there again, and for once you seemed to really understand where I was headed.  You stepped closer.  A look passed between us.  Our lungs reported the cold of the air in visual clouds of exhalation.  Hesitation on your tongue, you reach for my hand.  I could not move, nor speak nor think.  Closer, warmer and more immediate with each moment, you pressed against me.  Building towards such a powerful and desperate screaming need, and yet when we submitted, it was the softest kiss I ever gave or received.  The sky opened then and the snow fell.  Every snow that falls brings me back to that moment.  I have never again felt a kiss that so clearly said “I love you”.

I have felt that kiss on my lips everyday since, despite the years and distance and silence.

I should be allowed to forget.

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I only have one love

Her eyes blaze an inferno of thought.

Her light colored hair falls into her eyes like the darkest blanket of night

She smiles so brilliantly when she cries; her laughter so painful to watch.

My best friend; my worst enemy.

She is consistent and erratic; confused and confident.

Soft and harsh; cold and inviting.

Shy and bold, distracted and distracting

focused and deranged

Taken and available.

She is my evening whore, my morning lady.

I can see her; she is so far away.

I have made love to her a thousand times; I have never met her.

She is everything I’ve wanted; she is all the things I most despise.

She is the one I fall for the first moment I see her, the one with all the power in the world over me.

I only have one love, and she wears so many faces.

The women I’ve known and never known.

I only have one love, she’s everywhere I look.

I only have one love; the women I know and the ones I never meet.

  This poem is also about:

• teacher poems
• poems for teachers
• teacher poem
• poem about my favorite teacher
• im sorry poems for teachers
• teacher
• sorry teacher poems
• goodbye poems for teachers
• thinking teacher
• sweet teacher poems

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The road out of damnation

I still walked down the road, still searching for…

you so strong and brilliant, seeming to know where you were going.

I followed that beauty, for as long as I could stay

but you said “I am not your lover.  I can’t show you the way”

Separated and alone we wandered years, still searching for…

you faded and weak, while I was illuminated, because finally I found it…

You tried to follow me out, not recognizing me that day.

I stopped and said, “I am not your lover.  I can’t show you the way”

  This poem is also about:

• lonely poetry images

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For Richard Doc Conway

I knew even then that you were a broken man.  I knew what you had been through in that awful war, but never really understood what it was like for you.  You lost all your friends there in the mud, came home to a country that didn’t want you back, and found that your wife had left you.  That would have destroyed anyone, but not you.  It wasn’t until so many years went by that I understood why.  It didn’t matter to you, none of it, because you never really came home.

You hid yourself so deeply in that bottle, and it was only when I would join you there that I’d see the real you.  You were kind, and far too gentle for what you’d seen.  I knew even then that you were broken, but I never did know just how badly.

When I had to leave, I said goodbye, but didn’t know it was anything more than “I’ll see you later”.  I should have known that without me there to help you…but I was too young to think that way.   I heard that you lost your job.  A week later they found your body in the motel with empty bottles strewn about the room.  I’ll always feel that if I had stayed, you might have made it home eventually.  I’ll always feel I had some responsibility I didn’t live up to.  I’ll always regret that I didn’t know that I had really said goodbye.

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