A Ruin of Love

This is a rewrite of one of my earliest works here. I deleted a fictional humorous section that, upon reflection, only distracted from the true story.

So you read poetry
Dear readers.

I suppose you all therefore,
Each and every one,
Think you know Love.

Fools all I say.
I sneer at all your puppy love hearts,
Your attempts at love in fits and starts,
Until to each there comes the day,
You count the lines around your eyes,
And find they match the sad goodbyes
Of every lover come and gone.

Do you then stop and listen?
Do you then finally hear
The whisper of your drowning heart,
Perhaps it’s greatest fear,

Was it never,
Ever,
Really love?

But wait,
As you trawl the wreckage of your past,
I see the single fallen tear
When you seize upon a time at last,
Long lost, not long, far short a year,
Nonetheless a priceless treasure,
Endless made by love’s sweet measure,
That single high school summer long ago.

Transistor radios,
Long days at the lake,
Salt tasting kisses
Yours for the take.
A half tank of gas,
In the day’s fading light,
Roaming in romance,
Long drives in the night.
Acid and vinyl,
Bike rides on speed,
A blanket by the river,
Her blue eyes and weed.
Along country lanes and
Forest paths walking,
Holding hands tightly,
Teasing and talking.
Sweet secret trysts 
Of teen sweat and lust,
Flesh pressed in trust 
Of love forever.

Or was it never,
Ever,
Really love?

Ok, wait,
You got me.
Those are my memories.

If you’re angry now,
Want to leave,
I understand.
It’s probably for the best.

But wait,
Maybe read a little further,
Just a little more.
It may be you will know me.
It may be I know you.

There are so very few of us,
Men and women both I’m sure,
Playthings of the gods of Love,
Some of us endure.

I will tell you of a woman
Who fell from afar,
Who blazed into my life
Just like a shooting star.

She set my days afire,
I was stricken by her glance.
Mad with desire,
I danced a dervish dance.

But I get ahead of myself.

Perhaps you are asking
Just how it was we met.
Lonely and alone,
I met her on the net.

First a photo posted 
For all the world to see,
Her lovely visage whispered
A thousand words to me.

Just a photo of a woman,
A figure lithe and tall,
eyes a hint of blue,
Hair a long, blond fall,
She stood erect, unposed,
Relaxed and composed,
Her picture as if taken
By a passing jinn 
When she heard him shout
 Patricia hey!
She raised her chin,
She looked his way.

A thousand words it whispered,
Woke me in the night.
Whispered, whispered, whispered,
Those whispers made me write.

I crafted words to praise,
Others to caress.
I felt myself a fool 
I truly must confess.
Not only was she beautiful,
She lived a thousand miles away,
Imagine my surprise and glee.
She wrote me back the selfsame day.

So quickly she became my muse 
Across that thousand miles.
I sent to her a thousand words.
To me she sent back smiles.

I felt like an astronomer, 
Who sights a comet so afar,
Who thus may give it name and claim
For oneself a long-tailed star.
This creature oh so rare
Who no man could ever own,
Surprised me when she threw a bone,
Let me give her my pet name,
A choosing of my own:
Annie.

She was my Annie.

Drunken, mad with love we fell,
Drank the weeks like wine.
We each confessed possession 
With every written line.

Upon a train she finally came.
I had booked a seaside room.
So sweetly did we finally meet.
So sweet began my doom.

That eve we walked the empty streets
Searching for our dinner,
And lucked upon an open door
In that quiet time of winter.

We were seated to ourselves,
The last guests for the night.
Bewitched, bemused I searched her eyes,
I sought her smile in candlelight.
Our hosts played vintage jazz
And when I read her glance,
Read her heart, took her hand,
Up we rose to dance.

Later after closer dance,
We talked into the night.
Trading words, hands held tight,
Nothing ever felt so right.

In the lovely days to follow,
Hand in hand we walked the town.
We spoke of life, spoke of art,
Nothing could have made me frown.
So perfectly we fit, 
So certain did our fate seem writ.
Night nor day no hour apart,
I offered her my soul.
She gave me those few days.
I thought she gave her heart.

This woman only found in books,
Everything I ever wanted,
Left by train the way she came,
Left my heart forever haunted.

Reviews

[Emunah June.]

There is a certain kind of magic to both love and loss, and how beautiful it can be when they are conjoined. I think that kind of thing etches out who we are and how we see things. I think walking the reader through this experience through your lens did this piece much justice. It's both bitter with a flicker of hope, coated in a sort of sad divinity that leaves something to be desired. You are wise, my friend, and when you write things like this, it truly shines through. Well done, I loved this.

[Michael Sun Bear]

Thank you Emunah, this real person “My Annie” absolutely shattered my heart. It took me months to even begin healing. Originally it was as if she had stepped right out of a novel, or as if I had just awakened from a wonderful dream, and found a woman from that dream had become flesh and blood.

[Michael Sun Bear]

Losing her was devastating; I retreated into my addictions, began drinking very heavily on top of pain medication. Retreated into the dark corners of my tiny apartment, kept the blinds closed, shutting out the world.

[Emunah June.]

And still, here you are, stronger than ever. I’m proud you’re still here.