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A Complaint

May 29, 2015
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(Originally written in 2007)

The cataracts of self-concern

Obstruct your view of me.

To you I would bare my soul

If you would only bend an ear.

My deepest thoughts remain outside

The locked gate of your heart

As I drift off to sleep

Next to a stranger…

When, like a child, you stamp your feet,

I see you…and the mask that you wear.

I remove my mask, but

You will not look at my face.

But my heart is not a lonely hunter,

It is known, but not by you.

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One Comment leave one →
  1. Thomas E. Turpen permalink*
    May 29, 2015 3:43 pm

    “She looks at herself instead of looking at you, and so doesn’t know you.

    During the two or three little outbursts of passion she has allowed herself in your favor, she has, by a great effort of imagination, seen in you the hero of her dreams, and not yourself as you really are.”

    — Stendahl in his novel, “Le Rouge et le Noir,” 1830

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