poetry

And my best wasn’t good enough; and that I have to accept …

I tried my best, in the absence of a best

man: and in the absence of a best

man I sensed what was slipping away.

It was no reality that escaped my grasp

because

the reality I dreamt was only ever

a dream I dreamt, and never some

thing I might one day have really

touched.

So what I sensed was slipping away,

in the absence of better man I so wished

I might – maybe – have had,

maybe some day,

was the hopes (not reality) I had held

for a better kind

of life; a kinder sort of

better; a lifely wifely

class of just aiming to be myself, where

learning was daily, and love was

eternal until that tragic day of death

do us quite journal.

 

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