Now my love, a little bit co-mingles;
In that wide and deep digital sea;
I'm just another guy - Connecting Singles;
Is enough social media for me.
My heart is lonely - yet my body tingles;
With some love past, or future destiny;
As through the clouds, I see the Moon break cover;
And I wish and hope for a new lover.

My wide reflection on a life been lived;
In a dozen ways, with many people;
I've always found - yet never could forgive;
The aloof side of me - just like a steeple;
And these lines of verse that will survive;
Myself, and so unlike many sheeple;
I'll write my life, as best as I remember;
Gee, to think it is already now December!

Twenty twenty-one - how Time does race!
And no love I've had, since 'twas Covid;
The world has changed, has changed its very face;
(Although I don't intend to be this morbid);
So where is love, amidst this new disgrace?
Where's love in my poems? - I'd write "ibid"
Which means "look above" (at older Poetry);
Now I'm fifty-three, nothing happens, and I'm lonely.

Shortly to my story - I digress;
In speculation purely metaphysical;
I let in a little light, to now ingress;
Into the darker shadows of the mythical;
My Soul's Odessey must now confess;
The ruin of the passion of the animal;
That was 'oft myself, as a younger man;-
Temptation led me, where ever tempting can.

Beauty, like the world - it's often true;
Is mixed with cruelty, ugliness, and vice;
Sometimes good hearts and souls must go askew;
Before we realize we should be nice;
My chequered path in life, I must review;
And so I have, and so it will suffice;
To give here, so much, ample material;
(I relate each vignette, as a serial).

That this is rough and ready - perhaps I've told you;
That I'm Australian, (and so I must be frank);
Good reader, I would never mean to scold you;
For reading this, I must then you now thank;
On the wings of Poesy, I'll uphold you;
Tall tales, and true, right from the memory bank;
I thus continue this poetic story:
Despite the odds, I've lived life in its glory.

This is a type of internal monologue;-
An anecdote to sketch a wasted life;-
I'm sober - finally lifts the mind's long fog;-
Now clarity can shine amidst the strife;-
With renewed poetic force my thoughts I log;-
For this, my muse, my muse it is my wife!
Through some Arcady, where I may yet travel;-
As from the pen, my story does unravel.

© lovecanbereal
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Posted: Dec 2021
About this poem:
Poetic speculations, (of a philosophical nature)

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Comments (4)

southmiami4321online today!
Your word wave memories sparkle life as it was, is, and maybe. 53 is just a number on your steps. Christmas spirit will be touching your door, my dear Poet. Sweet and bittersweet moments for some to come ahead. Enjoy them as December marches on with snow, night street lights, foggy mornings, wetting our gloves. Hear the carol songs to enrich your lonely heart. Best of wishes LCBR for the upcoming Christmas. dancingsanta christmas happy gingerbread snowman2 SM
Thanks for the comment, and kind words SM....................bouquet
Your work is deeply touching, LCBR. It's vulnerable, honest and reflective. Lovely share!
crying cheers

Thanks for the comment; appreciated...........bouquet
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