Bittersweet

Alan Harris

You hurt and struggle.

You are ripped apart

like a coupon out of a newspaper.

How can you or I mend you?

When the spirit bleeds,

words are worthless,

sympathy simpleminded,

blessings empty.

I hurt too.

My soul slogs along under

fearsome boredom

and capricious desires.

I am a blip in a flippant universe

wishing for an exciting peace,

a pleasant insecurity,

but I waste away in dull comfort.

Cry your tears into this saucer

as I cry mine there too.

Let us mix them now together

and drink a quaint communion.

We may be maudlin,

stupid and sentimental,

but love tasted in tears

is heady wine against sorrow.

All