Love as Lobotomy

Love is blind, the cliché goes, and I,
High minded, close my eyes to how
The one I love has changed. She's not
The woman she once was. She's very
Round, no longer lithe. She carries
Someone else's child, and, despite my
Many efforts, gifts of candy, spoken
Words at least so sweet, and sundry
Indications of the way I feel, she goes
Home to the father in the evening,
Not with me. I should see that she
Always will, but I am sightless.
Love, it's said, is blind. Sometimes,
I wonder, is it stupid, too?



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 31 times
Written on 2010-02-11 at 15:16

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