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poetry by lou sid linesman - on life, love & politics
Saturday, March 11, 2006
Contradiction
Who painted out the interest in the prone and living detail of your natural face?
Not I.
Who told you not to fill the space, to take the place
Which vacant will be claimed by those who say they’ve won
some virtual race that human-kind has never run?
Not I.
And who emulsified the magic mural of your life
with perfect gloss, devoid of any personal design?
And chose the regulated climate set to suit the serving ones
who fear the wild embrace of seasonal rebuff?
And bought that frayed old line secured by trust
in those who’ve never climbed, who’ve never slipped,
who’ve never learned to tie a vital knot?
Who made you marry your unhappiness (not mine)
and take this twenty years’ remuneration
for the role of bitter beaten wife?
Not I, who couldn’t help but show myself
in truly pitiful and warning light
and begged your every cruel and angry push
and sought the misery which I deservedly then duly got.
Not I, who could not harm you with my too transparent lie,
though I did try.
Not I, who only could delude and hurt myself,
whilst your deceptions were but drifting words,
but haze which dissipated in as many soft and simple sighs.
So who’ll now take the burning blame
for your sad solemn sultry pear-drop eyes?
Not I - when I now know the how to love you - no, not I...
...although I’d kiss them by-and-by when you would cry
and tender my own tears in confluence,
until yours finally might dry.
© Lou Sid Linesman, 2006. All Rights Reserved.
