Sonnets 49-52

 I won’t be coming home tonight,

My patience has snapped for the last time,

 And nothing you say could put it right,

So heed the words of this hasty rhyme.

 The shouting will stop, the arguments too,

And we’ll sever these ties that bind,

 Because all these fights slowly accrue,

As hate-filled masses in my battered mind,

 If you’re honest you’ll nod your head and agree,

Because your feelings can’t be far from mine,

 And from each other we must be set free,

To halt the silence when we meekly dine.

  Let’s remember the good times, those famous few,

  And hope happier times will quickly ensue.

© menshallknownothingofthis.co.uk 02.09.2009

 Wrenched away by a glitch in time,

I watched her fade by the candlelight,

 Nothing was left, an empty thought crime,

We’d ignored each other’s fateful plight.

 Hope saturated those lonesome days,

Gluttony of delusional faith,

 Consumed the sun’s uplifting rays,

As I became a hideous, vengeful wraith.

 My back became crooked, my hand’s arthritic,

As I peered at your picture day after day,

 And the memories became entirely mythic,

Fight after fight turned into innocent play.

  And I hear legends of your future life,

  A life lived fully without our strife.

  © menshallknownothingofthis.co.uk 02.12.2009

 We snatched a kiss when homeward bound,

A betrayal encouraged by that last drink,

 Words were uttered, slurred, lies unwound,

And our feelings released, the missing link.

 So long repressed, unleashed for a second,

We entered a tryst in a downtrodden alley,

 And when I declined, you once more beckoned,

So I kissed you again, one more to our tally.

 Silent, we tumbled through the front door,

Greeted by a crowd, unaware of our act,

 And she rushed to her lover, that lucky draw,

Erasing the walk’s most salient fact.

  We carried on, with temporary amnesia,

  A meeting of eyes could cause a lovestruck seizure.

© menshallknownothingofthis.co.uk 02.12.2009

 A walk that I’ve followed for far too long,

Tracing your footsteps with a quiet haste,

 I’ve broken hearts, committed many a wrong,

All in your name, all for a sequential taste.

 Of my own volition, I turned around,

Impatient and thinking of worthier causes,

 But I still see your footsteps set in the ground,

And my stride is stricken with many pauses.

 Those causes turned to dust, nothing next to you,

My will eroded, my legs fraught with lactic acid,

 So I stopped chasing footsteps, looked for a pew,

With an outlook tamed, fragile, and altogether placid.

  Now there’s no route, in front or behind,

  I’ve lost all trails, my sight no longer refined.

© menshallknownothingofthis.co.uk 06.12.2009