Contemplating Lost Love

by michaelcahill

We wonder what is unspoken
what thoughts lie in waiting behind which words
The words with golden letters sparkle
the ones with grey hide behind with hooks
They attach, and flesh is torn scratching at them

Life is so awfully uncertain and imprecise
for in life there is always give and take
But scales are rusty, and bolts are hard to come by
nothing weighs the same when gravity is a trick

Even in your own heart certainty leaves
a lingering doubt dripping slowly and congealing
in a pool where loneliness swims, waiting for irony
For there is always something broken when borrowed
and then returned in life, coveting demands it

It is thought that in life we should reveal ourselves
for death is too late the suddenly wise will say
Such cruel irony there, for revelation
begs for clothing and a polite glance away

Truth in life is a cone with ice cream on the ground
The righteous condemn the germs and common pathways
The liar scoops it up like lightening without remark
and takes a chance that sugar is worth damnation

Clarity comes with death
With death we finally find our measuring stick
We finally are forced to put aside
the petty day to day business of living
and realize we are all the same,
just human

We really do love
just because we do
It is real when it sings
It is real when it dances
It is real when it is foolish
It is real when a thousand words
can't quite describe it
nor can a thousand more

And finally, our grief
becomes the only love
that receives no response
and needs none

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