Peculiar Predicament (Poem)
By: Elizabeth the Violet Writer
Our last real contact was long ago
Still, I sway under the effects of your touch.
It’s bittersweet,
The nostalgia I feel.
It is wrong to think the way I do.
Still, what to do with what I feel ?
I want you, though I know you can never be mine.
I burn for you, though I know you long for another.
There are days when I feel the sadness of my situation will eat me whole.
Those days I want nothing more than to be rid of the cords that bind me to you.
Other days, days when you look at me,
I want nothing more than the consummation of my secret vows.
Isn’t it funny ? My peculiar predicament.
My heart bleeds and writhes under the weight of my unseen devotion.
My eyes do not cease in their tears for me.
What wrong have I done ?
For which I am being punished so.
Who knows, perhaps i got too much love in a previous life.
And maybe that great love of mine was at the expense of another.
Maybe I dealt someone a cut,
A hurt so deep the fates could all but ignore.
5 thoughts on “Peculiar Predicament (Poem)”
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Failed Proposal
Ìbà oo Ìbà
🥺
Interesting…..keep it up
It’s nice, a love that makes not let’s you remember a life you don’t even know let alone recollect, Maybe just maybe your lover is at fault, cause ghosts only hunt dose with empathy.
Throw the whole damn man away!!! How dare he not love you back 😩
Quite heavy actually. Your words sit in the body the way the old wanting does. The touch is gone, yes, but the body is still tuned to it. The coldest part of the poem is: “the sensation outlives the person”.
What actually strikes me most is the split you keep naming. One day the cords feels like a noose and you want them cut off. The next day, when the eyes meet, the same cords you want cut out becomes the only thing that makes sense. You do not even try to resolve the contradiction, you just let both truths stand. That is honesty, honesty that keeps the piece from tipping into a pure self-pity.
The final movement into a previous life is quite and very interesting. It is the only place the poem tries to give the pain(s) a reason, a stand. And most of the rest simply refuses explanation—“What wrong have I done?”—and then, almost as an afterthought, it offers a karmic story. It kinda reads less like belief and more like a mind casting around for any narrative it can find, that would make the ache pain less. The searching itself feels true.