I wrote these particularly for the day, February 11th, in which my mate and I split up several years ago. This is meant to not bash him, ridicule him or insult him. I wrote this for myself to help at least get myself back in writing as I have been very complacent as of late with college. As you might guess from the thumbnail there is some humor in it while being both tragically uplifting and comically morose.

A Time to Think --

*Intended to seem disorganized in rhyme scheme (I didn't focus on the meter that much). Any parenthesis on the side are just small clarifications that aren't really needed to get the gist of it but to clue you in on what I said.*

Four years have been undone, so it would appear,
By not the dim heart but by the affective mind.
Sense by sense there is no appearance to tear
Your impressions from this day, nor shall I find
Some psychological council from the inner eye.
To exercise those traces left to rot in my memories--
Is this not a cruel joke of your name that I spy?-- (Christian)
Would I be empty as your enamored sophistries. (I am using the Greeks' opinion of sophists)
Am I a fiction to you, a story you've written out
The hows and whys to your plot but I left in doubt?

I address not you in these lines, rather the traffic
In everyone's spines, of the emotions and thoughts,
Particularly my own where reside my muscular knots,
That changes its slope to falsely believe they're heartsic'.
The goodbye you gave to me, I did not see mistreatment.
But time begins to distort what I see; the ego indulges
In the rush of blood to the head, yet it blushes
When tenderness of another time renders it complacent.
As the Dubliners I read, the dust of action and imagination
Anchors me homeward, gazing at you, as if, with divination.

There's no reason to be mad since you were sincere;
There's no reason to be sad, because of you I am here;
There's no reason to be heartbroken without you for
There's no reason to be together to ruin what remains.
Is my rambling not like Gatsby's plea, where I ask for too
Much from you when I know there are limits about us two?
I had days of your adoration and nights of migraines;
I had your love the second time around though I was sore;
I had your tears in sorrow or in jest when I played the rear; (Butt of the joke and butt of ....)
I had my laughs, my sorrows and more feigning Shakespeare.

Though this sounds like the triumph of a conqueror's land,
I am more aware of the slipping of its reign that acts like sand.
The sophistry that molds me to be me will decay in half-a-life,
Inconsistent because a life is not numerically to be defined,
Though will show signs of wear till I be naked to myself again.
I have transcended to your realm, my Dionysus, before afterlife, (Nietzsche's Dionysus)
At the cost of certainty to endless questioning of what is defined,
Never to feel secure, never to leave something unexamined, Ah-men.
That trace of you shall be inscribed on me forevermore,
Only this do I claim for myself and nothing-more.