The Agony & The Ecstacy.
A couplet of poems.
Part one ; The Agony.
Jealousy.
‘Tis jealousy’s finger, I’m certain,
Shapes my thoughts, turns my mind,
Its persuasive strokes caress a concern,
And causes me discomfort inside,
But why not?
Do we not treasure what we value,
So that it holds precious to our parts?
Should a lover not also covert,
Such protection for an aching heart?
What lie is it we tell ourselves,
That our person is without envy within,
No disquiet, no worry, neither suspicion nor sin?
But stay..stay..my jealousy is but a quiet thing,
Held privately, of a part, inside my wretched heart,
To reflect within on mine own failing,
For could I have been the better lover,
Better conversationalist, generous provider?
But no…just as faith wears thin,
From a futility of too much praying,
So too affection blanches away
From love’s prolonged overstaying,
For what possession really can be owned,
When one is but a voyeur seeing,
Those private delights a lover displays,
With some private moment’s viewing.
Then let my jealousy be a trophy,
To cupid’s arrows shafted accurately,
For I can now but turn my eyes askance,
Cold loneliness flow on from lost romance,
While witnessing her warmly embracing,
A new lover to her so delightfully entranced.
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