The divorcee
"Shall I give you up, then,
since you show so little interest?
I am tired of this constant hell
of always looking after you
while you ignore me and just fool around,
enjoy yourself and drown yourself in shallowness
with younger men and lovers
risking clearly to get vulgarized like them
in abysses of boring cynical frivolity.
Is that how love must always end,
one doing anything just to escape the other's company,
abandoning oneself to gaiety of nothingness
and ending up in vacuum on the other side
with only bitter memories of foolhardy mistakes
and finding your most desolated loneliness
in the mistaken lover and a marriage failure?
Is my friend then to prove right
in the most terrible repellentt possible reality
that there is no love but in self-love,
which you fool yourself by calling your ideal?
If that is true, then there is nothing in that truth
and no God in existence in such truth,
no God in such a meaningless reality
and in this life no love at all.
Then even death is better,
and all suicides for love have never hesitated
to prove such a bleak reality of no love possibility
completely wrong as an absurd and total unacceptability."
Poetry by Christian Lanciai
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Written on 2006-10-14 at 16:25
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