It took
Another woman
To care;
Another soul
To balance
Justice,
Hypocrisy
And lies:
I was dispensable
To the truth.
What she believed,
I do not know.
She thought
I was more than
A man;
More than flesh
And bone.
She thought
I was something
Meaningful.
What she believed,
I do not know,
But I was a metaphor
For something
Or other;
For some abstract thing:
Perhaps romance, or love,
Or hope.
Maybe I was to be kindness,
A demonstration
Of the fact that she
Could be loved;
That it didn't matter
What her father
Had said.
How I wish
That I was the metaphor,
The allegory,
But I am just
A man.
I am just the man
Rationalising, personifying,
His feelings,
His reflections,
His failures -
I am the man
Unfamiliar with self-esteem,
Left reeling
Now that it has slipped
Away.
YOU ARE READING
Refraction.
PoetrySo many aspects, colours and themes make up our experiences. Truly, is anything entirely good or entirely bad? Upon weighing up the positives and negatives of the past, do we not admit that even tragedy is- in a twisted sort of way- advantageous? O...
