The Name of My Sorrow
She, in all of her redundant glory graciously allows me
I dwell not upon ideas long lost
She remains a barbican of spontaneity
With every naïve plunge into the urn of my existence
my sorrow
Unnamed hurts hurdling the barriers
To crash against my senses
Senselessly hurtling through the ether
Alighting as a mote upon my soul.
Nor dreams denied the light
Nuances of neon tinged thoughts
Play amongst the timbre of other-worldly echoes
shrouding my subjectivity
in a beclouded cloak of desire.
Within the purloined musings of my motivation
Fleetingly flaunting her exhibition
As befits her stature
Time's tuneless tirade continues unwinding
Yielding not a care for banality
In its forward march
The name of my sorrow is hammered deep into my senses
Unconsciously tattooing her rhythm into my synchronicity
For the name of my sorrow
Is love.