POETRY BOOK Stories in the stream of life
I think that we all have been there. We really do love The One, but keep finding ourselves haunted by thoughts of The Other. "What if had went that way instead of this?" Questions queried during the whispers of twilight and along with the morning's birdsongs. It's a human conundrum, a dichotomy of love. Makes you feel the falling of that soft, cold blanket of what if. That's the coming on of a Blue Mood.
Let it be known, though, that as a fact of reality, women often feel the dichotomy of love just as men do. But this one was written by the hand of a man. Once upon a daytime in azul.
The sound of my ring tone
The timbre of my life
When I am in love with my girlfriend
And cannot do without my wife.
The way that I feel
as I live in the world that is for real
and play in a world that is just
an imaginary construct.
As I deal with the real feelings
That have shaped my view of the world —
of all girls.
The observation that cycles like a wheel,
starting from the time
that I knew in my mind how
there was no more love for my mother
left inside me, just anger
for how often she left us
how often she left me
Because I am longing for a love
that I really should have no part of.
The thought of that love
is as sweet as cherry blossoms in the Spring
Yet the reality
Oh, the reality
Is as bitter as sad Summer fruit
Left out under steel grey Winter skies
Oh, true love —
It’s as hard as hard to find
as good gold or more time
And just as precious
For what it can bear
I want to taint mine with leaden pain
I want to melt it with infidelity
To move in directions that has nothing to do with us
But feels good to me
Because this one had my children
And that one
Oh, that one -
she always had my heart,
and while we want to,
(though we can’t)
we had damn well better stay apart
For life with a wife
can be nice and sweet
But for all my trying
and, oh God, I am trying
it is almost too tough
and always so hard
while, this wheel my feelings ride
It’s almost too rough
And I am so scarred
So what am I?
I’m just so —
Stephen W. Winslow