A tidy poem

In Essays, The Daily Drool on August 24, 2009 at 3:42 pm
There is a sculpture here,
moves in the wind
Tis made of metal and heart
Men are of such stuff
Strong, but unable to bend to pick up the pieces
And when their hears break
you cannot hear it scream
for it is tucked away
so very far inside
Broken behind steel and concrete

I found this poem tucked away in all the rubble residing beneath my bed.  It’s dated 2001.  I don’t know who I was thinking of when I wrote this, for most of my poetry is meant as salve to my emotional bruises, but it caught my eye and was thus spared banishment to the circular file.  In fact, it stayed with me most of the day as I pondered it’s meaning – what it might have meant to me then and what it means to me now.  For I’ve known many a man that has seemed to me an example of this phenomenon of stoicism… Seemingly fine on the outside, but their once broken heart sent away due to its painful past – put in a box on a shelf far, far away from the light of day.

It’s heart breaking really.  And I no longer feel like the poem should reference men alone.

I’ve been in the depths of heartbreak more than I’d like to have imagined I would ever be – and there is a little blind hope left in this heart of mine.  Hope that I will find someone who isn’t afraid of love – someone who is oh-so happy to partner up with me… But as I get older, that hope has lost a lot of its luster, and when it pops up it’s generally met with a fair share of skepticism, so that I feel that I am becoming more like the steel statue I observed all those years ago.

In fact, sometimesI feel as though my heart itself is steeling up… calcifying in this mortal shell, a testament of surrender…

Love, it seems, visits not either sex enough to make worth its pain.

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