October 22, 1991

143. The Poet

Why am I cursed with this heart
     That cares too much and is blind to the truth?
Evil spell of words cast upon me
     To write such heartache,
Why do you plague my nights
     With dreams of love and happiness.......
     Of quiet whispers in the angelic-white roses
     Swaying in a tranquil breeze
     As twilight of lavender spans the sky?
What I would give to make
     My verse fiction, unreal; painless.
My tormented soul looks back to life without a care,
     To the words that span the pages;
     Of loves-lost and by-gone days,
     But why, oh why, do the tears still fill my eyes?
‘Tis the dream of the past
     That casts tears to eyes,
     Makes minds wonder, and hearts beat,
Yet, why does no one understand?...
     All the poet wants is to be loved.