The soul collector
How can love become a tragedy?
It's all too easy - the smallest detail is enough
to wreck the finest fregate into cinders,
like the man who lost his wife to his best friend
and after thirty years of marriage with three children,
or the wooer who inevitably had that bad luck
to get all his sweethearts snatched away by others
just as he was going to propose to them,
or the poor man who could never have a wife
without her cheating him with other men,
the more the better, as if vulgar fornication was a merit;
or the lady who infallibly got stuck with the wrong men,
drug addicts, alcoholics, psycopaths and mental cases,
while she never got the man she really loved,
and he, who really loved her, also never got her.
Well, there are so many casualties in love,
that casualties of war are easier to calculate,
since most love victims just obliterate themselves in suicide,
making their life's greatest sport to get away with it unnoticed.
Other victims turn to less fructiferous alternatives,
like going lesbian or homosexual
with, of course, no natural results,
and end up crying out pathetically their frustrations
like all losers in the most incalculable game of love,
where losses generally are completely ruining
and gains just fickle transient momentary whiffs.
There are too many bitter bachelors who learned the hard way
not to ever trust a woman, and too many spinsters
who turned into hostile feministic militants
because of too bad luck with the wrong men.
Among the commonest of clichés is, among frustrated men,
"I never met a woman I could trust," and among women,
"Never was there any man who did not cheat his love
from the beginning." Still, there always are exceptions.
Some there are who just continued ever to be faithful
to their massacred ideals, and the more so
the more they got hurt on the way,
and others who are just content
with their collection of the souls of those
whose bodies they could never reach.
That is a special and extraordinary category.
They are maybe greatest of all lovers,
since they never can forget whom they have loved once
and they never can betray a single one of all their loves.
They have their candles burning constantly
in the profoundest depths of their most tender hearts
and never fail to light them up again
if any of those candles would go out.
Their faithfulness, experience and piety is inexhaustible,
their love embraces all, is omnipresent and supremely tolerant,
and they are maybe the true teachers of true love,
since they, by never getting anyone, did never cheat,
did never let you down, did never hurt a soul
and carried their love safely through all hells
to keep it burning as the true ideal which it should be.
Poetry by Christian Lanciai
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Written on 2007-02-11 at 22:12
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