LOVE DERAILED
LOVE DERAILED
Whose unscathed heart has dared to love,
for to love is to feel the pain.
Is it true love that hurts not the heart,
or just two passing trains?
In the best of times, dinner and wine,
when love feels like it shoud.
Dither and doubt linger about.
That dirt makes it hurt so good.
Love isn't fair, tis all but a dare,
arrogant, selfish, obtuse.
The winners gloat only in the grave
losers go back to the caboose.
Old lines and hard times denigrate the steel
making the cars woble and sway.
Even riding the smoothest rail,
clickety clack clickety clack, all day.
Left at the station, the end of the line,
Infatuation's purple heart.
The grotesque beauty of attraction
tis the angst of most great art.
When pain's embraced you've lost the race,
there is nothing left to see.
Bought and paid for, gelded and roped
like voluntary slavery.
If on romance you've take the chance,
I wish you the very best.
End of the line of the honeymoon train
It's all down hill for the rest.
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