Your unconsoled soul song
composed entirely of
unmeetable needs
was forged in
infancy or
before.
Not everyone enters the world
in love; and I, addicted to
aching was instantly
hooked.
You told a thousand stories
of the myriad ways you
bled and bruised and
hurt, of the myriad
myriad ways we
and all the world
let you down
(while Gloria
Gainer sang
in the back-
ground).
You’re gonna be the death
of me (Lord, Lord) – I
warned when I was
braver. Where I
got the balls,
I’ll never
know.
I needed to believe love
healed all wounds and
gentle was strong.
But I was tired,
and when I’m
tired, all bets
are off.
Kinder in word than act, you
called me – and you were
right. I love you, you
said. It was an
absolute truth,
and it meant
good bye.
I was never so
glad of anything
in my life.
‘It was an
absolute truth,
and it meant
good bye.’
Are you absolutely certain and not filling in something you may assume? (Very tempting to do so, have done te same…
)
The “translation” of the phrase was an assumption – it’s the way I took it in hindsight. The reality (which was quite certain and absolute) was not based on that exchange.
You know best! A poem is free…
some people are beyond healing, some people dont want to get healed.