She’s eighty-nine
and now she tells the story of rape,
of giving up a panopoly of dreams
for the baby boy.
(Shot gun wedding)
Love and happiness can’t be forced,
like sex.
Society forced her silence,
condemned divorce,
when she refused abuse,
and sought in the ashes of her dreams
for a phoenix.
Bitter choices,
dream fragments,
cobbled into a life,
grumbled about now.
Dream stealing beast,
a boy who wouldn’t hear no,
seven decades of curses
don’t erase the bitterness
of loss.
.
.
(true story)
There at the bottom of the bag
is that precious photo
of the beloved man, now gone.
You have torn it into shreds,
torn my respect for you,
torn my love of you,
torn my heart in two.
It was not enough that he adored
and worshipped you?
You were blinder than him,
though he had the account with CNIB.
Your bitterness is poison
and I will not drink it.
She said, compassion is a light.
It attracts those in darkness who then devour it.
Oh what a sad and bitter theory!
No.
Compassion is a fire that burns freely
and radiates warmth and comfort to those who draw near.
Fuel for compassion is love and contentment, which renews the fire regardless if anyone has gathered to enjoy the heat.
Compassion can not be taken, it can only be given;
it is the essence of its fuel.
No one who is truly compassionate can be bitter,
because bitterness is the antithesis to love and contentment.
If you think
the new guy
loves you for you
perhaps it’s just that
he hasn’t noticed yet,
who you really are?
Have you sliced him yet
with those word daggers,
eviscerating his affections,
hacking out his heart,
and bleeding out
years of devotion?
Have you belittled him
in front of family,
friends, and children,
torn him into pieces,
crushed his spirit,
and pushed him to despair?
Not yet?
We’ll give it time.
Eventually
he’ll know you
for the daggers
in your smile.
.
.
.
.
“Where we are, There’s daggers in men’s smiles: the near in blood, The nearer bloody.”
MacBeth II.iii.
Shawn L. Bird 