At My Age
It seems a strange admission at my age:
she was the first, the one-true-broke-my-heart
love-of-my-life. The rest just qualify
as ships-that-passed, my turnings of the page.
You love, she said, too much, become my cage,
and we would both be happier apart.
She is, perhaps, but when will life restart
for me? It's not as though I didn't try,
pronounced my empty lines and wondered why
I still perform such roles upon my stage,
I cast myself in such roles at my age.
Stephen Brooke ©2002
I found several somewhat mediocre poems from the 2001-2003 period in my notes, stuff that existed only in handwritten copies. Most of them were posted in online writing groups back then, I think, but never existed in typed form on my own computer. Or if they did, they were lost when my last PC died. Anyway, I'm going through them -- when I feel like wasting some time -- and getting them rewritten and archived. There's a lot of lovesick stuff among them...drivel, in general.
This one, I guess, is a little better than most. At least, it's nicely metered.