Circles Poem by Tsani Jones

My heart hurts.
I know the pain,
It has been there so long
I wouldn't know life without it,
I'd trade everything to expunge it.

She can't see me,
Hidden behind the many veils
Submerged in the shadows life
Has cast over me.
But if she glimpsed, just one time...

My love is her revolution.

To wander lost is the ultimate evil,
The revenge of pure evil over
All that is right in the world,
To be elusive from that which is pure
Is the temporal hatred.

The shoes wear thin,
Soles calloused, the ache strengthens,
But my soul won't die,
I can't stop walking,
Even if I were to see the fire in front of me.

My desire to be beside her
Is the current of a live wire,
I hold it and my mind can't force me
To let go, as sinew fries and bone snaps.
The burning flesh reaches my nostrils,

But my heart refuses to let go of what is right and pure.

So I will circle her
In the glass sarcophagus she
Has placed her love, her trust,
All that was once mine,
I will circle like a planet around his sun.

I choke on it,
Taste the metallic pain from
The back of my tongue and
Wonder why this is life...
She surrendered her heart away,

And I fly, blinded, in my circles.

My heart won't stop,
Won't give up on her,
Will not allow a break in my passion.
Without her love, life is less.
Less can never be more.

Without her smile,
The world is a grey tapestry
Of nothing, jewels lose all luster,
Gold is a foil to wrap rotting fish in.
But she only sees the tatters in front of her.

I want her full attention, her true sight, just once.

I stand on the tracks
Only to watch the train approach,
It's gonna hurt, boy,
But I can't get out of the path...
Son, it's gonna hurt like hell.

The winds whip in my hair,
I smell the diesel and coal
But my heart won't brace for impact.
I've sacrificed too long, bore my punishment to be worthy,
And today I play chicken with the train.

I might lose, but I will never betray my love for her.

It's the only light that's sacred
The only hope worth believing in,
The only star I've wished upon.
Every shooting star wears her name.
Each gusting wind calls her to me.

I believe in dreams, even when they
Wear cloaks of pain and bear daggers.
Her love is worth it, for the world
Is dead and cold in her absence.
So I flitter about her with my broken wings.

I coo a tone she won't hear,
Flash the colors she refuses to see,
Blinded by her own pain, by
Those who weren't me, those who
Could never love her as completely as I.

You can call it stupidity, I call it love.
You can call it all a waste, I call it destiny.
You can ask me why, but I know every time I see her face.
You can tell me to give up, but I can't.
I will take the punishments handed me like a man...

Her man.