by Richard Vince

Was fickleness disguised as
An ability to let go, or
Was it the other way around?
Perhaps which it was depends
On which has become worse
Over the intervening years.

So many people told me
Things about myself that
I lost sight of truth amid
All the conjecture. From
So far into the future, it is
Still hard to tell the difference.

From the outside, it looks
Very different from how it felt
To live through: even the longest
Months appear short from here.

Through it all, somehow,
One friendship did not change
Even though the friends did.

Those early twenties words
Could just as easily be from
Our late thirties, though
The fingers that typed them,
The minds that thought them,
The hearts that felt them
Have been through so much.

Perhaps my heart was right
In who it chose to keep
And who it chose not to pursue.
Perhaps knowing when to
Admit defeat is a wisdom
I learned early and later forgot.


Posted on 03/17/2020
Copyright © 2024 Richard Vince

Member Comments on this Poem
Posted by Glenn Currier on 04/08/20 at 04:30 PM

The whole poem is a triumph, but the last two stanzas caught me in the heart. Thanks for this jewel, Richard.

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