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Loneliness (Part II)

Loneliness is a brine,
Something that so thoroughly soaks into your person,
Like a rot, a stench that you can never quite get off.

And no matter how many hours of doomscrolling, of trying to keep your mind from thinking,
There is nothing quite so depressing
Than admitting to yourself that you are lonely.

It is not brandished in your face,
Not coloured in your clothes, and
Not smelt in your deodorant.

It is far worse, a pathetic realisation,
The cause of such desperation.
For it was so wretchedly true
When someone once said
Misery has no pomp nor glamour.

-Desdemona

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Loneliness

T'is a special kind of pain,
The kind that forms when you are
Surrounded by people
Yet, feel completely alone.
 
The pain of being surrounded by kindness,
Yet none of it softens your heart,
Clenched like a fist, 
Waiting for something to go wrong.

T'is not an ailment that a salve can cure,
No witchcraft nor solidarity can erase this ache I know by name,
An illness called Loneliness.

-Desdemona

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I Blame Ye Not (Song to Brutus: Part Two)

At least you, child,
Had the decency to kiss the dagger
With which thou rent my Heart.

I have much time, to think about things now.
I could notice every hungry stare at my Crown,
But not the sheer Trickery played by those Carrions on thee.

Surely, they would have persuaded you their cause was Just,
Using the Honour thou cherishes most
As ammunition against thee.

I blame ye not, Brutus, for how could I?
If even my Angel has turned a blade against me,
There is no point to living, simply to breathe.

– Desdemona

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Caesar (Ghost)’s Song to Brutus

Forget me not, my darling,
I pray you forget me never.

Mimosa pudica  I may be,
Though my bones exalt in reverie,
Don't forget our love,
As pure as an ivory dove.

For you were friend and
Brother to my bones,
My forgotten soul remembers
The laughs we've shared 
From times old.

Though as poison ivy
You hath struck me,
Purpled and venom-tongued, envenomed,
I shall but wither 
As a Forget-me-not,
While Roses and Briars
Over my tomb do conspire.

– Desdemona

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This Too Shall Pass

Stop! What are you doing?
Your life is ebbing away,
And here you are, ever idling.

The world is still spinning,
The sultry Swallow's birdsong still sounds,
The flowers still bloom,
And Life moves on.

Your labours shall last forevermore,
Your worries shall never end,
For as you live and breathe,
You shall be troubled yet.

For that is Life, my friend,
Full of beauty and sorrow in equal measure,
And so many feelings strange and new,
While so familiar, and so old.

So take heart! Move on!
Go forth, knowing that 
There shall be greater follies than this to come.
The road is tough, the path is long,
But where it leads,
Is your life's call.

– Desdemona