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Behind Enemy Lines

I really should be leaving,

It’s probably best I go,

Cause I can see where this is heading,

And I know myself, I know myself too well


Everything is perfect,

Ideal as far as the eyes can see,

To dwell upon the positives, is

To relive each of love’s possibilities


And before things should unravel, the way they likely will,

I best not stop in waiting; I must bid this all adieu,

I can’t risk in believing; I can’t pause until…


For once the luster’s ended, all that’s left is cruel

For once loneliness has leavened; the vivid grey their hue

Behind enemy lines,

And I’m falling fast

Behind enemy lines I crush…Oh, how

I wish this all could last



I wish it could remain,

Without the danger of the pain,

Creeping in as it likely shall

Devolving all that’s beautiful, into feelings that can kill

Into feelings that will kill inside


I know myself,

You remind me of what I once had hoped to be,

But that was a time lost so long ago

Well before the setting moved to hell

And it’s lakes and crags…each damned by life’s disease


Behind enemy lines,

And I’ve fallen fast

Behind enemy lines, I crush each and every time

When I look at you…


And despite it all, as said and how things seem… I believe

I believe this all could last…

I believe that this could last beyond the dream


And rather sacrifice tomorrow,

Rather perjure a future yet unseen,

I’ll let the tides unfurl…to shift as they may this eve


And I’ll sever clean this feeling

By believing solely in the past

And I’ll then sever clean this feeling,

Killing off…any chance there is for me



About hobgoblin2011

I'm a poet and aspiring screenwriter/songwriter with a passion for film, art, photography, philosophy and heavy metal. I love reading, mainly non-fiction, comic books, graphic novels, myth and reference. Family always comes first for me. I'm a proud father to two wonderful pups and two curious cats. I'm also a glutton for punishment aka the life of being a diehard Buffalo Bills and Sabres fan.

3 responses »

  1. This piece admirably voices grueling grief and desparation. One can only hope that the subject is a character of the poet’s imagination – and a fine poet he is too.


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