141. A confession
What is a lover without stains?
My greatest fault, if you'll forgive some straight confession,
is my incredulity and doubtfulness –
I never could believe in love nor trust a lady,
letting my love be corrupted by mistrust and jealousy
for nothing – it was maybe that old green-eyed monster
which appears whenever love appears as its back side and contrary,
but fortunately I could always well control it,
piously preferring self-inflicted torture to myself than hurting others;
but the worst was always the incurable and persecuting doubts
which usually, unfortunately, proved too true.
Thus every love-affair I had was ship-wrecked
on the shoals of doubtfulness and hard reality,
my love surviving only in my lonely ruined heart
in constant fickle hope of better luck next time.
Poetry by Christian Lanciai
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Written on 2006-08-31 at 12:35
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