The Romantic Hopeaholic
The Romantic Hopeaholic
“I am an alcoholic” he said, standing proudly
In the circle of those already declared;
Each sitting with their memories and present thoughts,
Conscious of the strength he showed, and humility.
No more a hidden life of excusing lies,
Told to himself and concerned and loving friends,
With neither really believing them, yet giving them
Credence, and the authority of daily rehearsal.
“I am an alcoholic” and with the declaration
Comes freedom and clearer vision of himself,
As he really is, and of his love affair
With the seductive friend, who stole his reason.
A thousand thoughts fill my mind as I
Pick over the recent history of you and
Me; wherein there is pain and self-deception,
Foolish hope and artful rationalisation of rejection.
I seize upon a chance remark and feed
And water it with my hopes and dreams;
Until it blossoms as some fragrant rose,
With soft damask petals, and hidden thorns.
Gullible, I tell myself I understand you, and
Find cogent reason to excuse what others see
As plain bad behaviour, uncalled for yet deliberate,
A wall against my unwanted presence, and love.
“I am a romantic hopeaholic”, and with that
Chance insight into the seduction of optimism
I find some freedom from the intrusion of
Your memory into my life, and find peace.
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