Fool

I may be a bigger fool than even I
Believed I was. There's so much
I don't understand. I've made up
Lots of tidy theories, noise to fill
The silence that surrounds her so
Much of the time. I've told myself
From the beginning that I am so
Old and strange that I could never
Win her love. She'd want me close
For my affection, for the wine, in
Other words; she didn't need the
Jug. But theories fail, anomalies
Appear, and new ones must be
Made. Why is she silent, anyway?
She babbles gaily with the others,
Then is serious to me. She lets
Herself be seen with others,
Hiding only when with me, and,
If we've been apart for days, she
Looks at me uneasily, as if she
Fears that this will be the time
I stay away. I don't. I can't.
I always reach her in a place where
We can hide, and, for a moment,
Little more, we both are happy,
Not just me, so I've begun to
Feel the fool. She cherishes the
Wine, I know, but does she also
Love the jug?



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 65 times
Written on 2015-09-27 at 13:12

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