Tag Archives: Lost

Nana, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz

NanaNana, Edouard Manet (1877)

Book by Emile Zola

Nana

You have the power to control the sun
There’s not a man who your beauty would shun
A magnetic allure second to none
The world’s most desirable courtesan

Not very long ago you walked the street
Elevated to stage door men you’d greet
Now many men lay prostrate at your feet
Creating dreams for fools by your deceit

Do wonder what it is you have inside
Some darkened secret of the past you hide
Never thinking to be a loving bride
Surely absent is a life filled with pride

Easily shared your body not amour
You do know you are but a high priced whore

 

Suicide, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz

SuicideLe Suicide, Edouard Manet (1877)

Suicide

Is true to what I have really done
Desire to rid myself of misery
Lying here still bleeding holding a gun
In death thinking I’d be totally free

There is torture in the time that remains
Bed continues to hold her luscious scent
My sick heart shackled in her mighty chains
Absent her savage kiss I now lament

I’m afraid now to close these heavy eyes
In her full beauty she shall reappear
Knowing she is the devil in disguise
To guide me straight to hell is what I fear

It is love that caused the hellish nightmare
And life only comes with a one way fare

Love’s Reward, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz

Love's RewardThe Raging Rapids, Peder Mork Mønsted (n.d.)

Love’s Reward

Ranging river flooded into my heart,
Suffocating, surely I will be drowned.
Its power so great to tear me apart,
Can this really be love that I found?

Kidnapped by aches and pains and nervous twitch,
Twisting and turning, can’t sleep in my bed.
Desire new feeling for which I may switch,
To rid me of this swirling in my head.

How I hunger but unable to eat,
Stomach tighter than a Gordian knot.
Shivering yet sweating from intense heat,
Visits to countless doctors are for naught.

If this be love, I know not what to do,
Should this be my reward for loving you?

 

Glass Door, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz

windowImage manipulated by author

Glass Door

With bucket of water, squeegee and rag,
Performing menial chore I abhor.
For it will always make my spirits sag,
Daily cleaning of the stately glass door.

Fully covered with finger prints galore.
Strange as it be that it has no push bar,
Makes me hate this nasty door even more.
Without a key lock makes it more bizarre.

Limitless numbers who come but can’t pass.
Is this door’s only purpose to harass?
Or clearly an obstruction made of glass,
To ensure creation of an impasse?

Now clearly understanding took an axe,
Gave the mighty wall of glass forty whacks.

 

 

 

 

Blue Rain, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz

Blue RainImage created by author

Blue Rain, Robert A Sieczkiewicz

When needed sleep finally does arrive
I dream in blue with eager thoughts of you
Reaching out, touching you, you’re so alive
Morning comes to reminds me what is true

There are always questions about my day
Fighting the blue loneliness since you left
Begging, pleading you would forever stay
Stealing my willing heart the greatest theft

Time for walking in the pouring blue rain
Searching for you, wherever you may be
Every step taken is a goring pain
Knowing not again your beauty to see

When needed sleep finally does arrive
I dream in blue with eager thoughts of you
Reaching out, touching you, you’re so alive
Morning comes to reminds me what is true