The Lady Talks Of Wisdom

 

“How did you get to be so wise?” you said.

   “By making tons of mistakes,” I replied,

“And it’s not really wisdom—just a head

   That catalogues the stupid things I’ve tried

And says DON’T GO THERE.” “So: experience,”

   You said, and I said: “Yes, the painful kind.

The kind with scars, the kind that builds a fence

   Around my feelings, swears all roads are mined,

And tells me not to dare because I’ll die.”

   “Not by my hand,” you said, and opened yours;

And even though I knew it was a lie,

   For vows are nothing but disguised trapdoors,

      I put my scarred and hopeful hand in his.

      It was not wise, but then love never is. 

 

Copyright 2015 Matthew J Wells