'The fate of lust.'

Slap my thigh, now stand up straight, Watch that man, now see his fate... A man. Calm, collected thus; A rose in hand, filled with lust, Her eyes meet his, They run for bliss... In each others arms now; They kiss. A man. Cool, so dreamy thus; A wallet large, filled with trust, Her finger comes, The deed is done... ‘Til death do us part; They run. A man. Caught, tired thus; A job too hard, now he's rushed, Her heart still beats, As time do creep... Together, forever; They sleep. A man. Crabby, so bored thus; A life so pointless, filled with unjust, Her time becomes small, Down at the mall... He weathers with hate; They fall. A man. Callous, angered thus; A marriage failing, filled with dust, Her lust has died, Through all the lies... Crying, so sad; They hide. A man. Counting the hours thus; A head so injured, filled with mistrust, Her bind is broke, The deed is wrote... The marriage has ended; They hope. Slap my thigh, sit down and wait, Ask that man, what he makes... Of all that's come, Of what's been done. And "Nothing" is what he'll say. He'll make nothing of yesterday. For this man sees the future, And his future is bright, Unlike the lover, That broke that bind; tight. She'll wither with age, And her time will come, To fall so in love, Then to have it undone. But how is this so, When we surely all know... That love isn't made, it's... well, it just is; It's not manufactured, You can't MAKE it work, It won't fix if it's broken, To think it will is absurd. Take a look, for example, At relationships past, Each one; disaster, Not one of them lasts. But for one simple reason, And if this isn't enough, i don't know what is, but, It just wasn't love!An old one, but... read a poem here that reminded me of it, thought i'd share. *s* Written March 13th, 2002 © on Mar 12 2002 07:34 PM PST, harry luck    0 • 10