Existence of the Non-Existence

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    Existence of the Non-Existence

    I did not want to love you
    All I wanted was a friend
    I did not want to care for you
    I just needed my broken soul to mend
    But despite my careful planning
    On how I wanted us to be
    I allowed myself to care for you
    Knowing you may never care for me
    How could I do this to myself?
    After all that I've been through
    After years of pain and devastation
    Allowing more room in my heart for you
    I've told you time and time again
    That love does not exist
    And with you readily agreeing
    Why or why does this bitter heart persist?
    This game you play is a cruel one
    Played with swords and knives
    Taking piece after piece of me
    Until soon I'll be no longer alive
    Even though you hide yourself
    I'll continue to be here
    Just remember I've made enough room for one
    If you ever need to be near
    Perhaps if you find yourself caring
    For me as I care for you
    Just make enough room for me my friend
    As I have done and will always do

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    erriczhade commented on Existence of the Non-Existence

    06-28-2009

    it sounds like the point of view changes mid stride, from the you (writer) to the you in the poem. it wasn't confusing to pick up on the transition either. although this may not have been what you meant when you wrote it, beauty is in the eye of the beholder.
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    laydbak1 commented on Existence of the Non-Existence

    06-27-2009

    This has a great flow, but the meaning teeters back and forth, as if you're undecided... You tell the guy off as if he's playing you, then invite him back in the end...??? So which is it, you want him, or you don't...??? Still a good write...
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    Ravoya commented on Existence of the Non-Existence

    05-24-2009

    one of the poems i would read over and over and over again and yet still come out with something great and wonderfull
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    Poetry is not an expression of the party line. It's that time of night, lying in bed, thinking what you really think, making the private world public, that's what the poet does.

    Allen Ginsberg (1926-1997) U.S. poet.

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