Freud’s “Interpretation of Dreams” haunts me
As I awaken fresh each morning with a tune in my head
And yearning in my heart. Penis envy indeed!
No, the heart wants its completion in the form of the beloved.
Awakening in bed alone is a trial when the yearning is so deep.
And the people in your immediate atmosphere so needy.
It is as if the physical and emotional support is necessary
So much so that the lack of it shatters peace.
And threatens long-term survival.
Can one endure through the turbulent storm?
For how long? Will the stress cause interruptions in bodily integrity?
Will the heart break again and again, and will there be enough around to shelter this fragile rose of love?
Love dies in a sea of jealousy.
Retribution beckons. Make him feel the loss too.
Someone else could enter the fray, and take the rose away.
Like ripe fruit, there is a limited shelf life.
Or depression takes hold and disease of a heart begets disease of body
Leading to premature death.
It is a crossroads of the heart and soul today.
The choice will determine a lot for all involved.
Will the dream win out? Or will this poem and all writings be a mere epitaph?
Another account of lost love. And cold, embalmed flesh of the beloved.
Untasted and greatly mourned. Too late.