The Same Lovely Misery - Poem by Uriah Hamilton
Poetry is not my friend,
It is only sad images of disappointment,
A desolate history
I don’t want to believe.
But still, I have more tears
For a lingering obsession
That has already left
A thousand handkerchiefs wet
With prayers and regrets.
Through scattered verse,
I have called you perfect
And invited the world
To fall in love with you.
I have tried to describe
Your shimmering brown hair
Caressing your Goddess-like shoulders,
A mythical tall girl
Towering in my dreams.
I have swum in the tranquil pools
Of your seductively sad eyes,
And I have not lied
About what they did to me,
I was spellbound and mesmerized.
You inspired a desperate search
For poetic words;
I wanted lines of thought and rhyme
To offer sacrificial compliments
At the altar of the beautiful one
Swirling through my imagination.
You breathe in my poetry
Like a Mediterranean breeze,
I cried and called you Aphrodite,
Now I’m certain that you’re Daphne,
Forever running away from me.
Other women are minutely alive in memories,
Vague footnotes to my poetry,
I can’t remember what they mean to me,
I’m not sure they exist,
But you remain, even in the silence
Of the long months of disappearance.
I hope the man holding your hand
Comprehends what he is doing,
That his mind is racing desperately
With feverish thoughts for your happiness,
That he is forever in floral shops
Seeking out enchanting and exotic bouquets for you,
Bargaining with a chorus of angels
To sing your name in a mystical mantra.
If he fails and loses you,
He may become a lonely poet, too,
Describing every meticulous movement of his desire,
Seeing you in every feminine shadow
Dancing in his grieving mind.
Erica, I will not write of you again,
I’ll let my thoughts all blend into the universal,
Write my praises to returning spring birds,
Find flowery words for summery parks,
Protect my despairing heart
For the loneliness of hurting children.
But if you ever speak a word to me,
The same flood waters of this poetry
Will drown my soul again
With the same lovely misery.
Comments about The Same Lovely Misery by Uriah Hamilton
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
Do Not Stand At My Grave And Weep
Mary Elizabeth Frye
I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love You