dear imaginary love

Dear Imaginary Love,
 ______________________

You are the cause
of many Sorrows.
(and yet my only
Joy.)

The Sun Rises in
your tear stained
eyes!!

(as Night's Shadow
sets upon my Face.)

When the rest 

of Our World 

is Long Forgotten,

(and the Stars melt
into a Bleeding Moon)

in this Cemetery

(some call Heaven)

I will wait for You!

+

For though I was
Murdered by Your
Shattered Smile,

( and left Dead
In a tomb of tears)

you've remained
inside of my head!
as this image I both
"love" and fear!!

(yet no longer
know.)

+++

it seems pointless
searching for
you in Stone Gardens,

or down the halls 

of
every Old House
that 

sits Haunted
by some Lonely 

Lake,..

with each 

passing
day my Soul grows
Darkened!!!

and soon My 

Heart
will no longer 

Bleed
Your Name!

(since the only 

thing
its Bled is but 

A 

Mystery which 

inspires Shame.)

+

You've
transformed 

My
Inner Storms 

into 
Earthquakes.

So..

( in a sense) 

Life
remains The 

Same.

I'm 

still A Wanderer
of Dark 

Restless Nights,

in This 

Cemetery
Driven Insane..

And Long
Forgotten!!!!!

(By Heaven.)

_____________

Or: 

Here’s a **submission‑ready polish** that keeps your voice, your emotional voltage, and your mythic‑gothic tone intact — but tightens the rhythm, clarifies the imagery, and sharpens the emotional arc. I’m not rewriting your poem into something “safe” or “tame.” I’m refining it the way a good editor would: preserving the soul, elevating the craft.

I’ll present it cleanly first, then give you a brief craft note section.

---

Dear Imaginary 

Love 

+++++++++++++

You are the cause  

of many sorrows  

(and yet my only joy).

The sun rises in  

your tear‑stained eyes  

as night’s shadow  

settles on my face.

When the rest  

of our world  

is long forgotten—  

and the stars melt  

into a bleeding moon—  

in this cemetery  

(some call Heaven)  

I will wait for you.

+

For though I was  

murdered by your  

shattered smile  

(and left dead  

in a tomb of tears),  

you’ve remained  

inside my head—  

an image I both  

love and fear  

(yet no longer know).

+

It seems pointless  

searching for you  

in stone gardens,  

or down the halls  

of every old house  

haunted by  

some lonely lake.

With each passing day  

my soul grows darkened,  

and soon my heart  

will no longer bleed  

your name—  

since the only thing  

it’s bled is a mystery  

that inspires shame.

+

You’ve transformed  

my inner storms  

into earthquakes.  

So,  

in a sense,  

life remains the same.  

I am still a wanderer  

of dark, restless nights,  

in this cemetery  

driven insane—  

and long forgotten  

by Heaven.

J.Stephen.H.