I'm jealous of how great an artist nature is,
the way the clouds sweep over the blue sky
how a setting sun changes it's hues
how a rising moon succeeds in grabbing your attention
how seasons give some trees four different appearances.
I'm jealous for I wish to draw like that,
to just envision a scenery in my mind's eye and recreate it.

I'm jealous of the words in my head,
how the rhymes flow without hesitation,
how better my thoughts are at sentence construction
how inferior my writing is compared to my ideas
I'm jealous for I yearn to write the way I think
but I cannot, and I don't know why.

I'm jealous of Death
for swiftly sweeping one off of one's feet,
for successfully taking away one's loved ones,
I'm jealous for I know they no longer coming back.
They shall now be referred to as 'was'.
I'm jealous for I'm only going to dream about touching you,
meanwhile the earth embraces you 'til you decompose.

I'm jealous of how other people make love seem easy.
I tried loving without being loved, disappointments tore my heart
I tried being loved without loving, that introduced depression to her heart.
Perhaps Narcissus wasn't wrong to love himself more than anyone else.
No matter how heart tearing love is, I hopelessly still yearn for it.

© Adrian Richelieu