Lament

By Ron Crepeau
March 23, 2002

With terrible torturing tenacity
Her infectiously indelible images
Of lithe lilting loveliness
Do delightful delicate dances
In my mirth-muted mind.

Forever a fastidiously feckless fool
I hold hard onto hope’s helping hand
Despairing not of that desirous day
She shall suddenly surface and say
Come, we can converse.

I cherish the chance for colorful chat
And so to share such sanguine situations
As may unexpectedly unfold upon us.
Oh, but how a haunting harm harbors her
Against sating so small a supplication.

Thus do droll days only die dreary
With her maddening memories
Mired in my emasculated mind
While logic laughs lustily long
At this ludicrous lament.

For flung far a field are these,
My futile figments of fantasy.
Fortune’s frightful fare for me
Is this finality of fact:
I am forever forgotten.