Wasted Love

Everything I see reminds me of you,
From the grass’ green to the sky’s blue.
Even as I walk over to visit, you still take up my mind,
Your beauty, your elegance, it’s all so refined.
I want to wholly accept the infatuation,
And yet my heart still tightens with frustration.

I see your beaming face in a toddler’s grin,
Chocolate dripping down their chubby chin.
I see your chiding laugh in the reflection of my change,
Your eyes in the pennies and nickels, it’s strange.
As I receive from the florist the bouquet of flowers,
I smell your fragrance, a scent I could take in for hours.
As I head down the street towards where you wait,
I can only remember the day of our wondrous first date.

Placing the flowers on your grave, I just yearn to know,
Where is all my wasted love supposed to now go?

Ares’ Flame

There seems to lie a certain charm in war,
Beauty in the soaring bullets you hear.
Elation in charging up with a roar,
A distinct joy in the enemy’s fear.

Why else does man carry on fighting,
Drawn into it like a magnet’s firm pull?
The god of war has to be delighting,
As our bodies are scattered with lead full.

Yet I cannot spot that grisly allure,
Even after countless years of combat.
Mangled bodies buried in a sewer,
I somehow don’t find the appeal in that.

The only answer fills me with distress:
Ares’ flame is not something I possess.