Mi'La Koonshun'Ka ~~ By UHCM, Jacob B. Smith

Here I stay before the enlightening screen of my computer.
Tapping and clacking away the woes on unsympathetic face.
I would wish for the ancestral warriors to grant a sword.
My heart weighed over nothing, but upon the sternum.

My frustration that I can joke, I can mock,
Yet I cannot jest the idea of being on my own; unloved.
Romeo and Juliette; such sweet temptation for my chances,
But chances missed as I am no more than a coward; unable to ask first.

Mi’La Koonshun’Ka! Story of my damned life!
I felt broody and in my despair; could not appease it for the fourth time.
Stanzas spoke none of love or resolve for my insignificance.
I looked upon the beauties; men and women alike.

They fit well to my emotional visage of the time when women are graceful.
Upon my failing sight and aside my frail legs of klutzes; the queen stood.
The skirt of a bell that chimes my eyes,
While the fabric redder than my fragile heart.

I tried to compliment in my manner, but I was quiet and shy.
She could not hear me; not a word could penetrate the air of professionalism.
Later on, she sat by my left; which is enough for me to grow into chivalrous daze.
Yet, she tends to the beauty of a friend who I respected as a senior techie.

Pacifists are the most violent people on Earth; yet I cannot carry through.
I cannot speak to hinder her freedom; I cannot show my pursuit for her.
I chose to halt my pursuit and hold back the naive thoughts of romance.
Romance, which I shared many times are trampled by women of ill-fate or cruelty.

First love was young, yet short lived as the Juliette vanished by disease.
Second was an illusion as she eventually chose her former husband over me.
Many more are already taken when I asked,
And they are those with partners who chose to be violent with territory.

I questioned society why they allowed this;
Why would they allow assaults upon gentle hands?
Why would women risk their freedom for possessive gentlemen?
Why do I even care as I did so many times before?

I jest the luck that I may have when it comes to seeking romance.
In my impaled and blooded heart, I chose to keep these words from prying ears.
When I see Tibult fall, I see myself all too many times.
Now I consort to the text typed upon the lonely face all too familiar.

Cold iron prods my fantasies as the heated carbon scatters my pride.
Pathetic and pitiful that I may be to write this and pray for emotional rescue,
But my hopes are nothing more than dashed luck overused by my shyness.
As a walking corpse among the living, I wore black to remind my poisoned heart.

I chose to live and work with wood, paint, iron and wires.
Muted by my brooding depression of one’s own deathly hindrance,
There is no better villainy than whose fate bestowed to stay a tombstone.
A poor man without a start, and no one to please, trust or cooperate.

Mi’La Koonshun’Ka! A tale of unwelcomed woes kept secret!
Is it not so hard to find unconditional love to which motivates one?
It is easy to find a woman, but to feel dominated is easier.
I wish to laugh and jest without holding burden or weighed by anyone.

I was told to get a job before romance.
Where is the motivation in that?
I was told to start asking around.
How when my chances are spent?

I live as a family man without a family of his own.
Alone with only fantasies to keep myself company,
As I died night by night with revival after each;
With damages done long ago; how could I compete with Romeo’s?