poetry

And on his tombstone it shall be carved: “He wanted more than anything to prove old Tina wrong”

I fell in love with good people.

At least that’s what I thought,

once upon a carefully notched timeline.

But maybe I was wrong.

Maybe the people I fell in love with were

mediocre flotsam cast out by rolling waves which

crashed onto shores stained with crude

thoughts and behaviours which

led them to pretend a love they

apparently showed was real and deep

and kindly enough to rotting boot, when in

fact it was just too damn shallow to be of use.

And maybe the reality as is was something else:

so many of these people were simply there to hurt:

me, them and others rather similarly, in fact

(no reason why I should be particularly

hateful …  nor deserving of any unusual hurt); and so

really what’s happened is they’ve fucked us all up:

these others, these them and this me all along.

And now there’s nothing to be

done but – zombie-like –

live in a misery of fairly grandiose proportions.

 

There is, in fact,

indisputably, no fucking bloody stupid nor

nicely drawn nor re-engineered

alternative to being properly, utterly and

 

completely fucked up by all the people we were and all

the people we’ll fail to be.

 

(So how could I possibly get to the age of 53 will all those illusions

hanging intact – like awful millstone – round my neck?

What idiot-stone – really – am I made of,

dear reader?

What idiot-stone, indeed, shall carve the motto of my tomb?)

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3 thoughts on “And on his tombstone it shall be carved: “He wanted more than anything to prove old Tina wrong”

  1. Idiot-stone? No. You have depths that others never gave you permission to plumb, and you’re only just now giving yourself that much needed permission. I think you’re no fool. On the contrary, your eyes are wide open, and perhaps they have been for some time. Another beautifully honest write, my friend.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. (Although, I must hasten to add, the use of the words “idiot-stone” isn’t lost on me. I’ve just looked at the title of this poem again. Death seems so futile and pointless in light of all of this, doesn’t it?) 😉

    Liked by 1 person

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