To Listen to Music While Reading this Poem, just Click Here!
Click Here To add this poem to your "Voting Possibilities" list!
THE TRUTH IS… The truth is: The truth will never set one totally free but torment him through eternity. This poem is one I should never write but it simply will not remain inside. I love my wife and prefer she’d never see these lines I contrive at my bedside during this sleepless, troubled night. The truth is: ‘T were maybe better had we not met to create memories impossible to forget. I have loved you since I first saw your face; maybe I caught the goodness glowing inside from watching your deep and fascinating eyes, or spied the gaiety in your rhythmic stride and recognized your unassuming grace. Had I generated some of your happiness by showing in this human experiment the deepest love that one can know and shared a truly intimate moment, I would not sense this horrible emptiness. Though we never made love or intimately kissed I always assumed some day we would. Even though we don’t realize what was missed, if eternity is real some day we could. I said it would be best if I stayed away; my reason being I might lose direction and reveal something in me that you would hate. Had only I shown you sincere affection maybe we would share togetherness today. At least we met and I have known how truly complete pure love can be; I feel blessed to have been shown that deep feeling between you and me. I felt we were destined to share this life in harmony, companionship and grace; my choices seemed always wrong - or late. So as I travel the final miles of this race I capitulate, remain devoted to my wife. The truth is … better left unsaid at times, so I wonder, should I have erased these lines. |
Additional Notes:
Unrequited love is absolutely the toughest kind with which to deal. IMO
This Poem was Critiqued By: Rachel F. Spinoza On Date: 2004-07-07 10:58:42
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 9.91304
Very dramatic narrative poem, Wayne.
THE TRUTH IS…
The truth is:
The truth will never set one totally free
but [can or might?] torment …. him
The use of the pronoun “him” does not agree with the the ambiguous introductory object “one” but I don’t see any way around it. “Might protect one through eternity” would seem a little stilted so, as Rosannna danna used to say/…nevermind
This poem is one I should never write
but it simply will not remain inside.
[yes, poems seem to have their way with us]
I love my wife and prefer she’d never see
these lines I contrive at my [is it not a shared bedside?] bedside
during this sleepless, troubled night.
What sad words always follow the phrase “I love my wife , but”..
The truth is:
‘T were maybe better had we not met
to create memories impossible to forget.
Coan for the day:: If they are forgotten – are they still memories?
I have loved you since I first saw your face;
maybe I caught the goodness glowing inside
from watching your deep and fascinating eyes,
or spied the gaiety in your rhythmic stride
and recognized your unassuming grace.
Had I generated some of your happiness
by showing in this human experiment
the deepest love that one can know
and shared a truly intimate moment,
I would not sense this horrible emptiness.
Or perhaps even a deepr pain would ensure – how complicated are the adventures of the human heart!
Though we never made love or intimately kissed
I always assumed some day we would.
Even though we don’t realize what was missed,
if eternity is real some day we could.
[and so given an assumtion of eternity – perhaps – for the narrator – the consummation is of the love is still possible?]
I said it would be best if I stayed away;
my reason being I might lose direction
and reveal something in me that you would hate.
Had only I shown you sincere affection
maybe we would share [-togetherness] today.
At least we met and I have known
how truly complete pure love can be;
I feel blessed to have been shown
that deep feeling between you and me.
I felt we were destined to share this life
in harmony, companionship and grace;
my choices seemed always wrong - or late.
So as I travel the final miles of this race
I capitulate, remain devoted to my wife.
The truth is … better left unsaid at times,
so I wonder, should I have erased these lines.
Nice speculative poem of the inconstancies of the human heaert.