Haunted Memories

a man not forgotten

19 Nov 99

To what fate shall my hand be turned
To stew and sweat o’er too long life,
While forgiveness doth naught to assuage my guilt
And fear breeds more of pain and strife?


I, who nestled at your bosom,
Well-hearted and guileless in youth;
Have been turned astray, left alone
To find primitive hungers that can not soothe


To one inside, yearning for love
That fairytale ending which doth entice,
Yet always tears the heart asunder 
And turns fairer hearts to grief and vice.


Bitterness less comely in age
Than in beauty’s sweet countenance,
Doth turn aside the suitors’ hope
Lest he seduce to that mendacious dance.


Oh, belovéd man of mine,
Dark and beautiful in your fantasy state;
When dreams were all I had
You taught me the way to be sated;


And, still I hunger for your arms.
Harmed, aching, yet more harmed.



© 1999, Tara Tambolleo