Sure, I could blame it on so many different things.
Like work, or health, or the room was too hot, too cold.
Maybe it was a succession of Technicolor dreams,
Interrupted by the blackness of hellish nightmares.
Could it have been a strange noise or indigestion?
Or the sound of creaking floors and squealing doors?
Excuses won’t begin to explain this reoccurring problem.
Exercise and balanced meals don’t chase the ache away.
For the vision I keep seeing and the name I keep hearing,
Invades the night, stealing the rest I desperately seek.
Leaving me more exhausted than when I lay my head down,
My need for you has become a consuming flame.
It’s funny how love affects my life to such a degree.
I don’t remember bad debts, broken promises, or firefights.
No bullets, or blood soaked friends, or death at my side,
Creeping into my very soul to rob me of my spirituality.
It’s the very essence of my punishment for loving you,
Doesn’t the saying, “No sleep for the wicked” pertain?
Honestly, I have tried to rid myself of you.
Yet your face and life have taken over my life.
Is there no peace, no tranquility, and no release from your image?
Can’t my heart soar, or failing that, be set free?
I cry and pray and wish and imagine a difference,
For I have fallen in love with the unattainable.
We called it Love sick when we were kids. But it happens when we get a bit older too. I can't believe it myself when it happens to me.
Reviewed by Nicole Davis Vergara (Reader)
Reviewed on September 4, 2003
Excellance from beginning to end in every aspect and way!
~Nikki~
Reviewed by Calendula Petal (Reader)
Reviewed on September 4, 2003
I can feel the pain in your words, love is a wonderful thing so why does it have to hurt us so......keep busy keep busy keep busy, mix with folks that make you laugh and dont give yourself time to dwell.....easy to say I know, but try it.
Reviewed by C.J. Park (Reader)
Reviewed on September 2, 2003
Once you find out, tell me what I'm supposed to do too. Well done!
Derek, I really like this. You build up the readers anticipation and wondering, the climax, and then tell us its a woman that keeps you from sleeping and then you go on to describe how so many others things should be the problem which in turn tells the reader that this thing about this woman is very serious. Finally, we have the self confession/realisation about the woman and then the bang at the end: "You tell me what I'm supposed to do." Altogether, well constructed, attention getting and solidly written. J.
Mary Angela Nangini's poems celebrate the richness of life and love. From the city to cottage-country and the roads in between, Nangini explores the changing seasons of her varied region. (This book will soon be reprinted in hard cover.)
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~Nikki~