My past, threaded with love,
Both good vibes, also so painful.
That pain, it wrinkles the soul,
Draws attention, refuses to yield,
Resists any attempts to flatten,
So I tried dropping it, dumping.
That worked, for a little while,
Until cringe moments crept back.
We all have them, who have lived,
We who have loved with hot fever.
Why is letting go the hardest part?
Not because we want to keep, no,
Because we want rid, want to shed.
Maybe because we enjoy the pain,
Secretly, a small part pleads guilty.
When we think we have accepted,
Released the pain of the past, in time,
It suddenly rises up, slams into us,
So cruelly hard that we are shocked.
Only way, keep on dumping, do it,
Keep on rising, cherishing the now,
Continue loving in the present, yes,
Send those memories a message,
We are done, bad times, surely done.
I made mistakes, I misbehaved, yes.
It is love, for crying out loud: love!
Not some factual analysis, but love!
Do not punish us anymore, never,
For we are guiltless when in love,
For we never had any choice: none.
Love is like that; it is: it surely is.

©Paul M Chafer 2015