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Deception

The more you love them, the more faithless they are,
and the more faithless they are, the more you love them.
That's the essence of love's merry-go-round,
a vicious circle in which you constantly get fooled around
and therefore the more enthusiastically join in again.
It doesn't matter how much you are hurt;
the more vulnerable and more wounded you are,
the more you continue to expose yourself to new massacres
just to get new wounds to dress again
with long periods of rehabilitation and recuperation.
Love's the constant battle from which you can never rest
but must join in the slaughter-house again
each time you have been slaughtered.
Is it wise? Is it a folly or a vanity?
It's like a drug and an addiction,
you just have to have another glass
since it momentarily makes you feel better.
I can't advise it, and no one can advise against it.
You just got to have it, for a moment's better
or for an eternity of worse, and there you are:
the present moment if just for a brief fulfillment
of your longing and delusion, self-deceit and dreams of vanity
is so much more important and more attractive
than all eternity, which never comes but later.

Poetry by Christian Lanciai