Love's Death

Not a love poem. A poem of love and death.

He loved me in a thousand ways
my heart my mind my body
but the streams of men he had before took its toll
upon my soul and pressed down on my existence
like a crushing pressure at the bottom of a deep dark sea.

I never knew when or from where.
Its hideous and insistent path to me was long and arduous
full of chance meetings in bars and parking lots
from the relentless pursuit of acceptance through his flesh.

He took them all; accepted everyone, rejected no one.
He gave as good as he got.
He was wounded inside although I found and held the small ember of life
still smoldering despite years of abuse from his father, society, himself.

This ember grew from my love and attention.
He refused me in wholeness, seeking pieces in need
And I gave, and gave and took little.
He needed me in ways neither of us could fathom at the time of his despair

But so many nights, alone and waiting
worrying relentless thoughts 
who he was with; what he was doing; the abuse he was inflicting on himself
carelessly courting dangerous sex with men who could care naught for him and nary a thought for me.

In his moment of lust and release, I did not exist.
When his passion was sated and his torn emotions rose
to oppress and overwhelm his weakened psyche
he would come home to me and crawl into my arms for comfort and cooing and love.

And I gave, and gave and took less.

For seven years we played our roles, him torn apart and me holding him together
as a soldier covers the gaping hole of his friend's fatal neck wound
from an explosion never seen nor heard nor expected. 
There was only the pain and suffering of his wounded soul
I held him, in shock from within my traumatized mind.

He has left me now.   Died while walking to the store.
Killed by a drunk driver on a mundane day doing innocuous things. 
Would that he died courting danger I would grieve over his stupidity and selfishness;
find acceptance in a death born of the life he led.

The suddenness of his death marked my heart and tore my soul. 
I berate myself with the knowledge that in loving him I courted the death he was denied. 
I suffer the consequence he so richly deserved.
And I gave and gave and took nothing!

The irony does not escape me.  Having taken so little he gave me so much in death.
He left me with a part of himself that is killing me. 
Painfully suffering a long deterioration. 

He left me the legacy of countless mindless couplings.
He left me to suffer and die as he should have died;
Alone, without someone's arms for comfort, cooing and love.

Author's Note

The squirrel started running backward today. Whew. I'm beat. This took a bit out of me to write.

Reviews

[Doreen]

omg. This is amazing. You've pulled my heart apart and it was fabulous. wow. This is going in my faves.

[Ellen Hammond]

Wow! No wonder you were beat. This is so deep and heartfelt. Sometimes life and love never seem fair as it seems that the givers who just keep giving and giving and putting themselves on the back burning, are the ones who seem to suffer most from the folly of those they love. And we are left to wonder why. Such a sad but not uncommon tale. Thanks for sharing this very emotion-packed write. I wish I could say I enjoyed reading it, but truth be told, it brought back so many painful memories for me. Still, I am glad I read it. Well done!

[Alessander]

acceptance through his flesh.

He was wounded inside

abuse he was inflicting on himself

these lines seem too overt and come off as a little preachy, imo. I'm guessing it's cuz there's still lingering anger and resentment and bewilderment, which comes across. I much prefer when the lines are a bit less psychoanalytic:

For seven years we played our roles, him torn apart and me holding him together

I really like this because it shows how both are complicit, "enablers", if you will. It also shows the tenderness more than the other lines.

I think you did a much better job in the death part, if that makes any sense. the simile of holding his jugular is a great one. And the pathos of such a dramatic person dying so mundanely adds to the fleetingness or absurdity of life. The last lines really convey the sense of guilt, and really reconnect to the holding the jugular part because it's common in war to feel guilty for surviving - and love is very much like war. Very interesting content.

[Phoenix]

Very beautiful and very well written! Almost brought me to tears, I cannot imagine a loss like this.

[Natalie]

This is very intense and well written, makes me wonder what inspired it?

[No Longer Writing Here]

Painful poem but very nicely written. My favorite line "He refused me in wholeness, seeking pieces in need"

[Alicante lullaby]

From a ''she's'' point of view,you write lovely....

[Eric Cox]

Very sad. Very well penned. Nicely done.

[Gomer LePoet]

Wow E. who is this masked man with all these gooey feelings. This is something very different by you I have read. I like this very much. We all know love is undefinable. it comes in small, big, fat, ugly, never the same package. get yourself a paper bag and go catch that squirrel. nice work.

[James Watts]

My friend, excellent write. Love is tough. I have loved but have never been loved back and I pretty much think that is how my life will go on until the day I take my last breath. But never let it crush you, because you are you and will always be you. Nice work, my friend.