Musings by The Poet Loriet
Til Death Do Us Part
It was my first wedding
since the divorce,
and I was really bothered
by the priest's words.
Talk of forever and
sacrifice and love
that goes the distance.
I've always been sentimental,
adored wedding ceremonies and
all the hope and new love
that goes along with them.
I can never hold back the tears
at the sight of the bride and groom
promising each other forever
with love in their eyes.
Why, then, didn't I cry this time?
Have I become numb to the
searching cry of one heart
to another. Do I hesitate
to believe in agape love,
soulmates, destiny?
Have I become cynical?
Am I going to be a bitter old maid?
I found myself looking at my watch
instead of hanging on every word,
watching each moment with sentiment.
Perhaps it was the hot humid air
or the cool elegance of the bride
with her blonde chignon and
well-bred high society mannerisms.
It was too perfect,
wedding planners, caterers,
country club indifference,
every detail attended to,
waterfalls in the background,
woodwind flute players,
poetry readings,
golf cart valets with
tulle wedding bows
adorning the seats,
tuxedoed waiters
offering hors d'oevres.
Something about it felt
very unreal, love is not
perfection. Love is feeling
and empathy and imperfect
tears, overwhelming emotions.
With my limited knowledge
of what love is or isn't,
I hope that they know the difference
between what money can buy and
what hearts earn for free.
Unconditional love.
If I ever get re-married,
I don't want anyone to
have dry eyes.
I want the love to be so real
that it emanates through
every heart present.
Next time
will be the forever
that I never had.
Until I find it,
I don't think I'm capable
of crying at weddings.
My heart is slowly
dying.
I have become numb
to love.
Lori Beal
since the divorce,
and I was really bothered
by the priest's words.
Talk of forever and
sacrifice and love
that goes the distance.
I've always been sentimental,
adored wedding ceremonies and
all the hope and new love
that goes along with them.
I can never hold back the tears
at the sight of the bride and groom
promising each other forever
with love in their eyes.
Why, then, didn't I cry this time?
Have I become numb to the
searching cry of one heart
to another. Do I hesitate
to believe in agape love,
soulmates, destiny?
Have I become cynical?
Am I going to be a bitter old maid?
I found myself looking at my watch
instead of hanging on every word,
watching each moment with sentiment.
Perhaps it was the hot humid air
or the cool elegance of the bride
with her blonde chignon and
well-bred high society mannerisms.
It was too perfect,
wedding planners, caterers,
country club indifference,
every detail attended to,
waterfalls in the background,
woodwind flute players,
poetry readings,
golf cart valets with
tulle wedding bows
adorning the seats,
tuxedoed waiters
offering hors d'oevres.
Something about it felt
very unreal, love is not
perfection. Love is feeling
and empathy and imperfect
tears, overwhelming emotions.
With my limited knowledge
of what love is or isn't,
I hope that they know the difference
between what money can buy and
what hearts earn for free.
Unconditional love.
If I ever get re-married,
I don't want anyone to
have dry eyes.
I want the love to be so real
that it emanates through
every heart present.
Next time
will be the forever
that I never had.
Until I find it,
I don't think I'm capable
of crying at weddings.
My heart is slowly
dying.
I have become numb
to love.
Lori Beal
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Til Death Do Us Part
Til Death Do Us Part
