Heart Of The Matter
The Promises And The Passion
The fickle, forlorn, fallow years,
So neatly stacked behind me,
The cardboard, cut out lovers,
Who all made their bid to blind me,
With promises and passion,
How they almost turned my head,
Yet seeing clearly through them all,
I lived alone, instead.
Contented in my solitude,
Their loss, my happiness,
An independent spirit,
Displaying no distress,
There is no rhyme or reason,
For this lifestyle that I choose,
I had no need of lovers,
Nor the darling baby blues,
I filled my life with treasures,
I gathered on the way,
But love remained elusive,
The price I had to pay,
Yet somewhere deep inside me,
Was the yearning of a soul,
To find the other half of me,
So I could be made whole,
I recognised that feeling,
Buried way down deep inside,
And when I looked into his eyes,
No longer could I hide,
The years stacked up behind me,
Do I dare to take a chance?
Give up my single status,
Or give up on romance?
Linda Harnett, ©2006
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The Promises And The Passion
The Promises And The Passion
