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Maybe
by Ken HarnischMaybe I loved too long and too many
Maybe it comforts the thoughts of a man
Hell bent on his journey to the end
To think the best of his intrusions
On so many hearts in so short a life.
And maybe I bask in the tributes
I sometimes am accorded in whispered words
Or in missals that go on and on with
Beautiful sincerity, testifying to
My grand and sweet humanity.
Maybe I loved too few and too little
Maybe the parsimony of a heart
Spread across the vastness of the fields
Was such that I could not give enough of
It to those in peril or in need, and thus dispersed,
Was reduced to blithe throwaways,
Or some witty asides that flamed a match
When a roaring fire was urged on me.
Maybe I let too many bridges burn
To remember the rivers that I crossed
Maybe I loved but one and so long ago
That she, like tainted meat, disturbed my taste
For love, and I became like a butterfly, flitting
On the flower tops, but never lighting, for fear
I might have to sup anew. Or maybe, I loved them all
And loving them, began to know I could not be all
Things to all who loved me back. And then again,
Maybe I still love, but in those quiet warrens
Where the true heart goes knowing that the love, returned,
Is subtle and so beautiful as to be beyond the need for words.
Maybe. 01/01/2003 Posted on 12/15/2007
Copyright © 2024 Ken Harnisch
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Maria Massarella on 12/15/07 at 01:00 AM How many subtle truths are woven inside a maybe - that apexes into the pulsing beautiful truth your last stanza is ... Maybe. This poem reminds me of the why I love to read you, Ken. Bellissima ... |
| Posted by George Hoerner on 12/15/07 at 02:31 AM Maybe, maybe, but we never know. We only see through our eyes. But you are right. Maybe wieghs on every man that ever loved more than one woman. Maybe he was right and maybe he led to long or didn't love enough. But maybe he was able to show what love can be. Very nice write. |
| Posted by Melissa Arel on 12/19/07 at 01:38 AM Daaaaamn, Ken. :) |
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