Love, I was told, was a beautiful story
of togetherness and friendship and romance
and glory
That when in love, you adorn the little
gifts life bestow
A lie they say, and here let the truth be
told
The play of love, is indeed great
but not A Winter’s Tale or a Tempest
A Twelfth Night Comedy perhaps, or a of
Errors
The writer is seldom Cupid, and is more
likely Momus
To spend your life, he gives you two
options
To find love, he gives two choices
One, is the one you hopelessly, irretrievably,
love
The one made for you is the other
He jests and mocks and scorns and shows
He makes you walk the desert on burning
shoals
He makes you bleed, in hope of the one you
love
and he gives you, someone better than you
had hoped
But He doesn’t understand Love doesn’t work
that way
There’s no one better than the one to whom
our heart we gave
We don’t want the righteous reward for our
toils
we just want to hold her close, her
embrace,
So do you learn to live with the one you
chance upon?
or you strive to find the one you were made
for
Do you try, fail, get crushed, and try
again?
or do you move on as if she never happened
I know when my perfect woman arrives
I shall have the courage to look deep into
her eyes
hold her hand, wipe a tear from her eyes
bring my lips close to her ear, and slowly
whisper,
‘Sorry, I’m married’
May
30th, 2013
