The Poetry Page
These poems are written by Abel Sousa. Enjoy!
TO A LOVER UNLOVED
MY SWEET SERPHIM
Red
NO APOLOGY NECESSARY
POKER (The Gambling Man)
Of days gone by
She can reflect
But sadness makes
Her genuflect
She has to give
All she could own
But no one returned
This love unknown
She stands and tears
Rund down her face
And lines of ages
Take ther place
The colourful world
That she once knew
Now blurred in her vision
White, grey and blue
Her heart remains beating
For chance she could find
That one true soul mate
So generous, so kind
Children run by her
Ones she knew not
And another dart hits her
Ther heart, on the spot
Time isn't patient
It's taking its toll
A black cloud above her
As if on patrol
She never knew how
To touch or to feel
But emotions inside her
Building up, all too real
She takes a few steps
And the pigeons fly away
Much like her hopes
Had gone on this day
The sadness, it looms
Intent in desire
To find its way in her
To extinguish the fire
A tragedy struck
In pain and in grief
This consequence happens
Beyond our belief
For a love life lost
Whether pushed or shoved
One must feel sorrow
For the Lover Unloved.
©1997 Abel Sousa
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To . . .
My Sweet Seraphim
To whom I give my love
How I could've met you?
I don't know
With eyes so blue and soft
I look upon you with utmost intent
To love, to cherish, to hold
My Sweet Seraphim
To whom I give my heart
It beats for you solely
Like the Little Drummer Boy for Jesus
It plays a melody for you
A song so precious plays for you
to soothe, to calm, to comfort
My Sweet Seraphim
To whom I give my soul
I praise you like a goddess
Like an angel
I do anything for you with nothing in return
But I don't mind that
Just so long as I may see you
to touch, to feel, to kiss
My Sweet Seraphim
To whom I give my life
I have done anything for you
You do not notice
I still try as my might allows
I have endured pains of all kinds for you
And I still do it
To live, to be, to exist
My Sweet Seraphim
For whom I played the fool
My eyes have bested my mind
And I see your wicked ways
I abbreviate my anger
I do not want to take a drastic measure
You are not an angel but a succubus that deserves
To burn, to suffer, to die
©1998 Abel Sousa
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To . . .
Red is love, is it not?
Red is blood as well.
Does that mean
That's love is as deep
As blood is within ourselves?
Does that mean
That love is as vital
To our being as blood is?
Or is it a warning of some kind?
Red is, in fact, stop to many.
Is that another warning?
But love is so pure,
So kind,
So gentle.
Is it possible for Red to be love?
Red is anger also.
Does that mean
That love can cause chaos?
But Red is vibrant,
Red is alive!
Doesn't that bring happiness?
So then Red is happiness,
And Red is love,
But it is blood, stop, and anger.
Red must also be confusion.
How else could such questions
Be derived from a simple statement
That Red is love?
In its confusion,
Red is a woman
Suffering multiple personality disorder.
That would explain confusion
But now Red is a woman.
Does that mean
That a woman
Is the key to love?
If Red is love,
And love is Red
Then that means love
Is everything Red is
And since that is so,
I don't know what to do about it.
Is Red the colour for me?
©1998 Abel Sousa
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To . . .
I am tending to my business.
A splendid party it is.
A woman arrives.
Directly in front of me.
Hello.
Nice to meet you too.
Yes, very fun.
I look around in dismay.
What a bothersome woman.
Go bother someone that might be interested.
Pardon me?
Oh yes, fantastic music.
A dance?
Well, maybe when a song I enjoy begins.
Perfect.
Now she wants a dance.
Thank God I hate this music.
Ah, no.
I'm here with some friends.
Where are they anyway?
Yes, I'm employed.
Money?
That's a matter I keep personal.
My eyes are looking tiredly at her.
My mind wanders.
I think about work.
I almost wish I was there right now.
At least she wouldn't be there.
Then again, she wouldn't be in Hawaii either.
Nor Tibet.
I hear it's peak weather to trek in Antarctica.
I suddenly snap to my senses.
I realize she has just blabbed a million words to me.
She has also just asked me a question.
I have no idea what it was.
She's angry.
She knows I've been ignoring her.
The look on her face says it all.
I'm sorry, what did you say?
She scorns me.
It attracts attention.
Too much attention.
She leaves crying.
All eyes are on me.
Remorse sets in.
I'm sorry.
©1998 Abel Sousa
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To . . .
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Cigars and cigarettes do pass the time
As players pass their cards to and fro
One in particular has a single dime
To spend upon the Queen of Hearts you know
He plays his cards the best his knowledge allows
He keeps a poker face in hopes he'll find
The lady of souls, of solemn unbroken vows
The lady of which there is no other kind
Cigars and cigarettes do blur his sight
Six shots of scotch and three beers don't aid
The Queen of Hearts to make a victory right
To make all grand, to win all that is displayed
But the gambling man should have seen it before
The Queen of Hearts, not his forevermore.
©1998 Abel Sousa
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To . . .
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