Shadow Hurt

“I love you madly,” he said, but he knew not to whom
With the kind of passion that sucks the air from a room
The breath from the lung, the strength from the knee
The writ romance the lonely so quickly consume

He spoke this with eyes turned up to the sky
With his silence challenging the stars to say why
His arms embraced phantoms, his lips kissed but ghosts
Yet yesterday’s dreams still sought fit not to die

So he writes to infinity with no reply on its way
He sits and endures one hundred hours a day
He pictures lives full of bliss, imagines timelines of love
While picking the real life worst things to say

Love is his sunset, his horizonous hue
He pays word service and poetry for the art lover’s due
But his days close out empty, his sighs feed the air
Because the unloved know love more and long for it too

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