Monday, November 9, 2015

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


1 comment:

david sard said...

brilliant sonnet!