Love Is Lost

Across the chasm of misunderstandings

Buried under the rubble of events

One believes love is lost.

Is it faith or fear that prevents me from looking there?

Or should I question the air?

Is there better for me?

Or often a whatever and what’s next?

A struggle with blame

Fighting, ignoring, not wanting to place it.

Lust, desire, the confusing temptations

Give dramatic worth to the fight

Or, is love the stake?

Without the drama

My Love is in peril.

Originally written Sept. 22, 1997

Notes: Ok, this is equally melodramatic and confusing. I don’t know who or what I may have been pining over while writing this, but the Guinness must have been flowing well this night. Sheesh!

From my Madrid files on the Pub Storytellers nights. Where an eclectic group of expats, troubadours, and assorted, sodden wordsmiths gathered twice a week to share a few pints, tell many tall tales, and lessen our loneliness at our favorite Irish Pub in Madrid, Spain, back in 1997-98. I kept my scribbles from these nights and the poems that grew out of the stories I told. This is the first time I’ve ever published these. I hope you enjoy them.

 

 

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