I’m no longer, much of a believer,
My scars have weakened my faith,
My highlights was deceiving paintings,
With demons discovered too late.
But yet a thing called hope,
Refuses to let me go,
I hear the whispers that say:
You’ve got to believe in love.
The dreamer convinces the realist,
Leaving an opening in my shield,
Again my soul stands naked,
Unprotected in the battlefield.
Another sword goes trough me,
I’m wounded ,the war is over,
Reality yells out laud:
What were you thinking girl,
Were you sober?
How many falls will it take,
To understand you’re not much worth,
It’s been proven again and again,
Since your mother gave you birth,
What the hell is wrong with you,
Do you enjoy this, getting hurt?
What pink cloud were you counting on,
Do you know you’re on planet earth?
Now tell me baby,
How much is this illusion worth?
How much is this illusion worth? That is a good question, and some will answer, it's worth everything, if only because this is the only life we have, and we have to live it the best we know how. I like this piece because it presents the question in such a way that many people will be able to resonate with it, and ask the question of themselves. The task of a poet is to present truisms in a manner that resonates, and your work certainly accomplishes that.
Life is a rough ride often. When we have it good, we learn little, when things are difficult, we learn a lot. But sometimes reason fails to understand the necessity of always being forced to learn through painful experience. In love we come close to our source and when we then meet with those who have drifted far apart from it, we risk getting hurt. But because love is what created us, we will never be able to entirely disregard its call in spite of the scars it has caused in the past.
My dear poetess the illusion is worth millions and the true act worth even more. Love has its ups and downs but it's still the best thing going, more like a trap. Once bit, that's it. When you're 90 years old you'll be glad you tried and experienced rather than sat back affraid and never knowing, wishes and thoughts in the wind blowing, which way you going and how you doing. Great personal poeming. Peace out GEM
Reviewed by Candy T (Reader)
Reviewed on January 14, 2006
I call this kind of writing spiralling - the questions are what matter, the answer is always the same four words...
This is powerfully emotive and meaningful, Cathrine. Some thought-provoking questions give the reader pause to ponder. Thank you for sharing this gift. Love and peace to you,
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RAge
Through the lines of this "Love Is My Illusion", rhythm and
harmony flows and poetic excellence glows.
I salute You, Poet!
Andre Emmanuel Bendavi ben-YEHU
love
is
the
message
Enjoyed reading your thoughts :)
Regis
Love Tinka
Don't believe him ! He is the Father of All Lies !
Believe in yourself totally !
Peter