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Unclean
The most difficult
Thing about my life
Is believing so
Fiercely in true love,
While bemoaning life's
Meaning with vigour.
My faith lies down an unmarked road
And I've got bad directions.
The sun only shines
Straight into my eyes:
No, that is not true.
It also burns to
Exalt the glowing
Memory of her.
Mostly at five AM.
When it rains, it seems to be
Of the oppressive, wet denim kind,
Which is cloying and profoundly
Heavy, both concurrently felt.
Funny yet sad is that I love rain.
The conundrum, exemplified.
The challenge is agonizing.
Impossible, it always seems,
To cleanse this mess than I am in,
Without wasting the
Important pieces,
Which I must hold dear
If I am to live and love right.
it's good. the only thing i am not fond of is using the / in poems.