The Feeling Called Love
He could never be loved by anyone
nature made him that way,
from the day he was born
poetic words of infirmity
adjectives of hideousness,
filtered across the dale
carried on the whim of revulsion,
this an impulsion by all
fair and decent
to ridicule to humiliate.
Every single day he curses fate
curses the power of the holy
whose earthly representatives
refused him baptism, leaving him Godless,
this compounded by the defect
that is reflected by a chance glance
when once passing a store window,
yet through all this hatred
a magic moment, when he saw
in me a friend.
“Sometimes a feeling” He cried
“A deep yearning inside of me,
‘please tell me’” He pleaded
“Could this be; ‘The Feeling called love?’”
© Harry J Horsman 2012
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