It’s one of the ironies of life that we spend more time searching for what’s wrong and flawed in those we love than on the pleasure their presence provides us. We are crotchety with praise. We could be pillows or doors for them, we could be their skies or their earth, their truth when they require it, their boost, their grace, their heft.  We forget they are breathing masses of soul, liable to be torn, likely to bleed. That they need to be embraced more often then turned away from.
 
And I wonder why are we like this?
 
Why are we hard, unrelenting, unkind, with those who deserve the best we can give, the finest of what makes us loveable and liveable. Is it something in the bones of our species that we hold ourselves back - see danger first, untruth, a selfish play, a ploy? Instead of belief and warmth, we first walk through the ugly and the unlovable. It’s almost as if we are going towards something which would put us into a path of perdition/engulf us with distrust, as if we expected it, almost wanted it. That is how strong our primordial instinct to be wary is. And we are ready to be hurt, we want to be proven that people are the worst versions of themselves, irrespective of how we might have been otherwise. Cynicism it seems is hardwired into our DNA.
 
And in that one tragic bent of thought, we lose the gold-flecking possibilities in our relationships.
 

If you liked this poem, consider listening to these other poems about the places we consider home  -
Finally Home
A Home As An Open Dream
Rediscovering Heaven

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Get in touch with me on [email protected]

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The following music was used for this media project:
Music: Medieval Love by Frank Schroeter
Free download: https://filmmusic.io/song/9366-medieval-love
License (CC BY 4.0): https://filmmusic.io/standard-license
 

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