05 May

I am not a man who is prone to self-pity.

Self loathing, perhaps, at times.  Self deception now and again.  And selfishness, certainly.

But in this grey early evening of my days, now the years have blurred the looks that once attracted, and drained the power that once compelled. I am undone.

I have never wanted like this, desired like this, ached like this.

Yet I am without hope.

It is time to hang up these tired boots.


Posted by on May 5, 2012 in Lovers Past


Tags: , , , , , , ,

17 responses to “Boots

  1. lafaeyette

    May 5, 2012 at 6:14 pm

    That’s truly beautiful…


    • Romantic Dominant

      May 6, 2012 at 3:20 pm

      But sad


      • lafaeyette

        May 6, 2012 at 3:41 pm

        Many beautiful things are. To me, beauty is quite frequently an exquisite agony, the loss of something imperative to our emotional stability, creating poets and writers of us 🙂


  2. pivoine68

    May 5, 2012 at 8:15 pm

    Hope is probably overrated.



  3. silvienoire

    May 5, 2012 at 9:15 pm

    yet the heart is still young


  4. Sofia

    May 18, 2012 at 12:31 am

    Never lose hope… that is when you truly die. 😦
    Sad, melancholic poem. Although I still enjoyed reading it.


    • Romantic Dominant

      May 18, 2012 at 7:57 am

      Well, I’m glad you enjoyed it, even if sad


      • Sofia

        May 22, 2012 at 2:50 pm

        I did. 🙂
        Thank you.


  5. Janette Monea Ayub

    June 30, 2012 at 10:49 pm

    If you hang up the boots, please still write though.


  6. mlbk7

    July 2, 2012 at 7:15 pm

    There is always hope. You too are lovely. Don’t be sad please. ~ m



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