LIFE, WITH INSULT

The insult lovers feel

Is a hurt known to never heal.

Dido took a bath which burned like day

Before night’s insult would go away.

Insult finds you, though shadows fall.

Insult does not eviscerate partly the mind, but all.

You cannot explain away insult, it burns

Like a burning net on the skin, the lover yearns

No more for love; revenge duplicates; you take turns.

Insult destroys monarchs if it comes from low friends,

The list of wrongs brokered by a single word never ends,

And what you told me in secret last night bends

The world up to my right ear

Which now will not love my left ear.

The chief sorrow of the beggar on the ground

Is not the empty cup’s hollow sound;

If dinner come, the beggar is happier than a king;

The beggar dreads when insult comes around;

No matter how high, or how low into oblivion we sink,

Insulted past is how we love, and insulted present is how we think.

You might see someone behaving badly;

They are hoping to deliver an insult

Before an insult is thrust back at them, and sadly,

Insult never ends its tumult

Of eternal insult.

A whisper stands in the way

Of muscle and faith and happiness

As the god stops. “What did you say?”

It does not take a poet to formulate

Nice words with an undercurrent of hate,

Anyone can insult. Words know how to fight.

“Good morning” and “hi” and other phrases

Which gladden morning and brighten night,

Exist for one reason: to stop

Insult, which wants to drop;

I’m sure you can see it in the eyes.

Madame Insult dazzles as she enters the room.

If for a second, you wait, you are insulted.

You are no expert. You will be taunted.

An official consults several officials apart.

Someone is always deciding your fate.

Insult is the very beating of the heart.

Her gift to me was an insult to you.

If we can’t say things to our lover, what are we do?

 

 

 

 

 

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