The Tortured Lover's Complaint
I can only be your lover
if I am your only lover.
What's love worth if it goes to bed with friends
and leaves the lover outside howling from neglect
and hurt more deeply than the sorest heart wounds,
massacred in battle, just from feeling locked out and ignored?
The question must arise if it is really worth the bleeding,
the despair and agony, the complete traumatization;
and still, the faintest glimpse of the beloved's face,
the shortest moment of her presence and her smile
is more than well enough to drain the ocean dry of sorrows,
heal all heart wounds and sweep all the bitterness away
in just a moment's flash and make a paradise start instantly
from the beginning, as if never any fall occurred.
What fools are we, the lovers, who can never have enough
of our folly, but must ever and again walk into walls and trains,
get many times run over, lost at sea completely and repetitively,
and we still will never tire of again start everything all over.
Poetry by Christian Lanciai
Read 415 times
Written on 2007-01-03 at 10:22
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