Are we to blame for what we do?
Can we help what we do? Can we?
Maybe, maybe not, we would suffer,
Oh yes, you think you miss me now?
You never know love, not really,
Until it is removed, forbidden,
Taken away far beyond reach,
Only then do you see, finally see,
Once you have lost that which you had,
Or even imagine you have lost it,
Only then do you understand,
How much you cared, cherished,
Adored, depended upon, needed,
That illicit love, that yearned for love,
The kind of love that is so rare,
It comes only once in a lifetime,
If one is lucky, very lucky,
So, even though, we do what we do,
Have changed who we are, irrevocably,
I doubt we will ever stop, not ever,
And there is no blame to apportion,
No disgust, no reprehensible behaviour,
There is just us, us, and how we feel,
Are we to blame for what we do?
©Paul M Chafer 2016
This is the middle part of a much bigger poem, but I deplore reading long lengthy poems on poetry sites, so refuse to post the whole thing. I will share the whole thing with any who message their email address. The poem is about love, how we love, in the 21st century - and it has changed with the advent of the internet and mobile phones - why we love and who we love and why. Is there any choice? Is there? If not, then infidelity must be a thing of the past, either that, or some folk need to climb of their pedestals and accept that the human spirit is not something we can ever control: it just is.