The pain-cycle

I’ve seen men
heard them too!
Talk about wonders
they’ve seen
and many that in truth
they haven’t.
I’ve seen that glassy
wanderlust look
that dominates their optics
as their minds stop
and their hearts race
at the mere thought
of a cherished memory.
An unforgettable wonder.

Me?
I do not deride each man
for the absurdity or
peculiar essence of his
own his wonder

For my own wonder
is not found in these
works of sublime art
Not Picasso not Van Gogh
nor is it the Smiling Lisa.
It’s not found in these dead
fruits of a dead affection.
It’s found in the storm
of bitter existence
in all her glorious magnificence
and her alone

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