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By Ali Date: 2002 Jul 15 Comment on this Work [[2002.07.15.08.14.21395]] |
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Words, it seems, Have become weapons, Sharped by the pain, The anger, The resentment, The fear. You just name it, And it just adds gleefully To the fire, And it's not the fire of passion, It's not the fire of cleasing, It's the fire that consumes And destroys-- Can you see that? I wonder if you do And just do not care, Or dare enough, To lift a finger. I could place the blame, I could say who did what, And when, From my standpoint anyway-- But there is no innocence here, And the trial would be pointless, And there's no point in damaging What has already been done. One stands, The Hero, And I suppose that title holds true, In some respects, But not in all of them, Because, you see, He is not Superman, And when he's hurt, He just gets angry-- And then nobody wants to play. The other sits, Playing both the villian And the victim, And yes, in some respects She is both of these creatures, Though they are not all of what Makes up her intensely fragile personality, And by reason of self-deprecating doubt, She willingly takes the blame, And wears the shame, Yet I wonder if that is wise-- When forced down by such labels All power of person is lost, And so, once again, She is not who she said she was-- Are any of us, really? Pain feeds, And breathes, Living and subsisiting On lost love, Fueled by shadows of the mind, Both real and unreal, And yes, sometimes it's easier to let go Than to hold on, But sometimes it is not wiser To do so, Because all decisions made in haste, Without the heart being shown, In all its muddled and vast Beauty and confusion-- All those decisions are just wasted. So be careful what you wish for, Be careful what you chose, Because sometimes when you burn a bridge, You destroy the possibility That built it in the first place. |