truant

As long as you play truant to my mind
You’ll never see my eyes again

Your illiteracy towards my heart was a vital mistake you made

Darling, I’m getting lost between your words
Every time you swallow my songs
Which you memorized by rote learning

Oh my pity soul, how long is going to take
For you to see his hypocritical blood and
prejudiced pride behind the jokes

Honey, you’re gonna fall in love with cold waters
that have been placed under his shadow
When he erases your story from the Medieval times,
You’ll realize old loves are just itching the unhealed scars.

Reviews

[redzone]

I love that last line, "you'll realize old loves are just itching the unhealed scars". I feel this, this "Medieval Times" kind of love, it's suffocating in the "cold waters" of dowery and ownership. And I ask, but Honey, what is modern love? Does it feel like the warm waters of a bath? Or the way a Spring breeze tickles bare skin? Or perhaps tastes like the smile of seeing a baby's giggle? Dearest Beren, love should not be entrapment, nor the "illiteracy toward a heart", but rather, unleashing of the individuality of desire.

These are some of my thoughts as I read your poem. I hope I have not tread too heavily on your words, as I have enjoyed reading them.

-Curt