To think, that this is what I wanted,
just to see your face again.
Now once again I'm being haunted
by the thought, "It might have been."
I thought this time I'd feel much stronger,
maybe joy or maybe pain.
I thought the hours would feel longer
with everything I stand to gain
but all I felt and all I'm feeling
is a sort of weary burn
where my heart was. Perhaps I'm healing,
perhaps I've just begun to learn
that what you get is what you pray for,
that nothing changes, only dies:
The joy you find you'll have to pay for
and nothing burns like all the lies
you tell yourself: and that tomorrow
isn't promised, but it comes.
Sometimes what you need most is sorrow
but instead, the sorrow numbs.
What I thought was lost forever
returned to me, but I can't feel
the pain I thought that I would never
find a way to ever heal.
It's just, I feel so very weary--
nothing now could make me care.
This world has never looked so dreary
as when I saw you standing there.
Like it, love it, brilliant and divine, the heavens cascades the soul divine, like turning left, appearing right, I saw you leave every single night, returner, and kisser of palms, secret grin so sacrosanct, display this moment on a TV screen, this is never how it's meant to be.
Great poem, you even inspired the mini one on this comment, cheers!
Posted: Jun 13, 2007
Bitter Irony:
Enormously entertaining. Terrific rhythm/pacing. Rhyming as well.
Theme: What did we ever see in this person? In the 1st place? A happy memory lasts so much longer if the reality never interferes with our enjoyment of it.
We can always revisit our memories of someone. With great fondness. As often as we like. To actually visit them, for an update, can rob us of our recurring happy memory. Though not always. The difference between platonic friendships, on the one hand, and relationships of intimacy, on the other.
Sometimes, I think, my ignorance is my only source of happiness and comfort. And so, therefore, to be embraced. Most enthusiastically.
The trials and tribulations of any elapsed period of time can also cause us to change with respect to the way in which we may perceive of others. Inasmuch as our perceptions, of all persons and things, may have changed as well.
Can, almost, see the public recitation accompanied by or backed-up with a chorus line. Moving in unison with the person doing the recitation. A performance piece.
Reminded of the Jules Feiffer's 1960's, 70's & 80's comic strip character of the female ballet dancer who was always waxing philosophical to the reader. The strip was syndicated for a few years, in daily newspapers, and was a long-term mainstay of the Village Voice.
Some of us could have a lot of fun with this one.
Could be a series with different themes and/or characterizations.
I hope my remarks are a source of entertainment to you as well. That I am not alone in my mirth. My intent is not to make fun but to boost your own sense of how enjoyable this was to me. That you may share in this same enjoyment.
Happy trails,
Ed Bradley.
Posted: Jun 13, 2007
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