Disillusioned Romantic

Romantics swing gently through the night

drifting between stars and dancing across the moon

the glide into dawn, kissing, setting with the sun

Hearts that flutter and swear by the night sky,

that brandish their love as swords, and promise hearts

Souls are promised, words and bands of gold are exchanged

What is all this, done in vain?

The snow we stood in, and swore our hearts

is the same snow that melted around us

as our foresworn hearts stained it red

Romantics though we are, what can words promise?

Every romantic says the same thing

a thousand times over. Swearing to give the moon,

to cut down a thousand men to have my heart

but in the end, its promised to a hundred more girls

What makes any other girls different from me?

Why should I believe any one mans promises

than any other? are they not all the same?

They would give the world to a beauty

that they laid their eyes on. But once she's gone

it's onto the next beauty, swearing the self-same

I would cross the seven seas, I would steal the sun

I would be for you all that your heart could desire!

What are these words that a stricken son utters?!

How can I trust such words I've repeated before

in such fervency and honesty, I must admit.

I never spoke untruths when I spake such words

but I feel they've been repeated far too often

by far too many a fool to mean anything at all

I've loved and lost. I've loved ghosts of men that

never actually were. What shadows have I loved!
So were it really love at all? Or weren't it a lie?

This romantic suddenly finds all the solace of love

to be so cold, is love truly still alive and well?

© copyright by Michèle Aimée Lahaie, 2011