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The Wise Can Not Love...

by Allison Liccardi
(Missouri; USA)

I felt my first touch of love for a man at the age of fourteen and it was pure hell. My innocence was swarmed with deception and betrayal and I lost the first strand of my soul.
Poetry became my confidant and escape to the jaded horrors of what many would call a heart.

I had succumbed to numerous traumas between the ages of fifteen and nineteen and as soon as my crippled body, from enduring long lasting physical abuse, could get up I bore my first child. Although taunting, it was not quite as bad as the mental and emotional abuse following my second child, resulting in my diagnosis of Multiple sclerosis. I came to know love as pain, whether it is good or bad it is all equally painful.

Philosophy and psychology had altered my understanding on love and I have decided, for as sad and pathetic as it may seem, I just was not meant for love. My poetry can speak my life in a page and so I listed two of my most recent encounters of love below.

A Soul in Need of Repairing

A soul in need of repairing was dealt to a man freshly bound together.

A heart crying for understanding slowly watched as that same man could bear all types of weather.

It was Jesus Christ who laid out the pages of that precious book

And yet within the very same token the blame that same Jesus Christ took.

So beautiful and pure, a love woven together with hope.

So painful and disappointing, from that exact love the brain was unable to cope.

I imagine how it would feel to sit amongst this man and trace the outlining of his strong jaw,

Triple kiss his cheek in humor and ecstasy as the fear begins to fall,

Into the sweet disguise of honey he drinks simply for the caffeine.

A perfectly planned story or could it have been the best setting for a heart wrenching regime?

It makes me smile how I see his face as I wake in the morning to press forward with my day

And tears race to the finish when I’m still seeing him at night where I solemnly lay.

I had this faith within the very meaning of what could be

And yet if it had not worked that man would have never been punished, only he.

He whom created me from my mother’s womb and he whom held me through a challenged childhood.

He who cried when I put that pipe to my mouth and yet still he who punished me as only he could.

He who offers such great joy and yet a fall for those whom refuse to abide.

He whom loves more than you or I.

He who told me marriage was a blessing and yet should be preceded with caution.

He whom has the power to go from mercy to a mastery of Arson.

I could not have imagined seeing my life without yours

And then as if my soul spoke I saw that my past continuously soars.

I have been here before and yet I do not believe in such precise depth,

A beautiful man and a bible that he always kept.

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