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Admittedly, poetry has never been my thing. -What I have written may not even be considered poetry... - Last night as I pondered the circumstances my friend is now in, I began to reflect on a similar time in my life.


Was I Better Off Not Knowing?

Before my heart learned to love
I held steadfast to my seclusion
Which seemed invulnerable to the world around me.
That reliable shell where within one might conceal emotion,
Prevents the true discovery of how powerful these repressed passions may be.
Was I better off not knowing?

Hesitantly, I stepped forward, not wanting to believe
For when I gauged the reality, it seemed highly unlikely.
With the passage of time, sensations grew inside.
It was something dreamt of
It consumed thought
From restful slumber to wide-eyed reality
Doubt rivaled bliss in an epic encounter
What fear had once enveloped me now seemed distant,
Though it’s presence was never entirely mute.
The surrender of heart and soul began.
I yielded to that which I blindly trusted,
For nothing that could instill this level of hope could ever lead me astray.
Was I better off not knowing?

Even the sweetest dreams reach a climactic conclusion.
Somehow I hoped that reality outweighed illusion.
The true horror came in a form not anticipated.
Grievous circumstances of illusion were my reality.
I gave my all.
I was willing to devote myself to that person.
Despite whatever positive intentions,
An unwavering heart cannot reconcile with that which wanes.
True love dies hard.
How else can this agonizing void be justified?
Perhaps I failed them in some manner…
What if more could have been done?
Was it my fault?
Regardless, questions fail to soothe the open wound.
Was I better off not knowing?

The shattered heart seeks completion.
It sees not what broke it,
But only what made it feel whole in the beginning.
Within grasp, if hope should shatter,
A person might have the strength and courage to release their firm grip,
For bloody shards pierce heart and soul.
Obviously pain coincides with contentment.
Resentment lies only inches away from this precipice.
A once hesitant person now finds life even more difficult.
With one hope betrayed, mistrust thrives.
And so begins the belief that never again shall love take hold.
A wound lies still, waiting to be unveiled.
Once again to return to the shell,
However, much more learned than before
I regret not the knowledge gained,
But only the heartache endured.