By some miracle I still live,
breathe, and my heart beats out
it's crazy tattoo into the silence
of the midnight street. No
living soul is here to see
my bloody, gaping wound
that reeks of love's battlefield;
or the guts that hang out,
mangled and totally screwed up
by a renegade amoroso.
Never. For my agony
is well concealed by the darkness
and it's dreamlike distortion
of sidewalk and shuttered terrace -
all of which in daylight mocked
the enormity of my fractured world
by their complacent ordinariness:
everything is not alright!
Don't they know I'm inwardly dying
from a mortally injured heart?
Even as my shattered trust
silently screams out it's hurt
into the deserted ether,
so, perhaps, this dreadful void
you've left me in
will in time become the impetus
to grow past you and put aside
my broken dreams
so that, more foolish than any clown,
I can dare to love again.