There is no wretched pain burned deep or stretching long
That will not soon relent at true love's sweeter song
Heard afresh from the soul, crooned for you, today,
Rhapsodic melodies to drive blues far away.
No matter how terrible the failures of the past,
No matter how painful the passions that don't last;
No matter how lonely the top, once you'd made it,
No matter how splendid the gift if you'd trade it.
Who controls the focus of where the attention dwells?
When will one learn repressed today, tomorrow smells?
Where does it say that one's indentured to his feelings?
Why no absolution for the past's traumatic dealings?
It's not fair to be born with no spoon of silver made,
It's not fair what one feels, here today, soon to fade;
It's not fair no one sees achievements, vict'rys won,
It's not fair time moves on, leaves behind, work half-done.
Little matter how strong, no shoulders are so wide
To carry heavy loads from yesterday, inside,
Hidden deep from our friends and their eyes that will pry
Into where we, ourselves, will not look lest we die.
--Don Juan de Feu
copyright 1997, The Goober Tree Press, all rights reserved