oh it leaves me in the gray morning wondering
am I seeing no more than one more
false face of romantic love
merely a more evolved duplicity
or is it new as it seems
new as a washed pebble, a remembered dream
a genuine surprise, a wave breaking,
new as it seems to me?
it's a word I've said and heard unwisely
paid for, had dragged out of me
drugged myself with, fought over
and exhausted myself defining and competing to define it
I said that's all, I'll never say it again
an every time of course you tell yourself
but this is different
every damned time, with your fingers in your ears
like the cartoon spy with the little round black
bomb
I hold a degree in self-deception
with a strong minor in regret
I have redefined love too many times
and cried over too many unkind
revelations, and in the cellar of my mind
some prisoner has carved: For happiness
is a brief illusion at best
and goeth before a long drop
a rough landing, and sorrow
and it will make a fool of you, if not tomorrow
then certainly in the end
-- GPL 1983 D. A. Clarke