Tag: Love

Mirage

Do not apologize –
the fault lies not with you

Love, while lauded for its cures,
is not always compensation

for a life of turmoil –
I know you loved her

Watched as you let your dreams slide
heart wringing with your own sorrow

There was just something about her
men lined up to grasp… to make her

What? Theirs? Happy?
It was not to be

She barely possessed herself..
Even in death, I reach for her

try to define the ruse,
but her essence is elusive

No, you are not at fault…
for she was never really there.

(Mirage first appeared April, 2021. Image mine)

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Responsibility vs Love

Like Atlas, I bear
the world’s weight
call it responsibility –
a painful delusion
requiring walls

Life has its own rhythm –
light and dark,
joyous and sorrowful –
orchestration outside
of my domain

Love, however,
is limitless
in its capacity –
open-hearted acceptance
protection in itself.

Trading one focus
for another
permits appreciation –
I vow to assert love
and forgo control.

Gambler

The gambler puts in fifty-cents
expects hundreds in return;

a simple flick of the wrist
and abundance will be his.

I feel like a slot machine:
paying dues for minimal input.

Tells himself there is more
to be had, if luck runs his way;

walks away from the richness
of family, joy of friendships –

Id’ be a slot machine for him
if love equated with money

Dreams of possibilities beyond
his daily reach, a fast track plan:

fortune is calling, palm itching
just one more roll of the die –

The die has been cast here;
no longer willing to gamble.

One more momentous win,
a promise to share the wealth;

what more could any woman want
from a man – half an empty dream?

Took a chance, myself once,
thought he was my windfall…

guess, in the end, all gamblers lose.

(Originally penned Gambler in July, 2016. Image my own)

Washed Ashore

Was willing to settle
even before casting off

anchorless, with no compass
to guide me, nor oar to steer

left fate to the currents
a vessel adrift; naïve

trusted those with power
to rescue me, unaware

of the target vulnerability
made of me, that sharks

like to circle wayward
boats, certain of a catch

no wonder, when finally
I came ashore, wrecked

I had lost faith in love,
turned hope to cynicism

had failed to register
the dangers of sailing

into uncharted waters –
the necessity of navigational

resources, and a life jacket,
the knowledge to stay afloat

and safe, in a sea where
discernment saves hearts.

(Washed Ashore first appeared here July 2018. Image my own)