Ain't That The Truth

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    Ain't That The Truth

    We all know what it’s like to love somebody and be so sure that you’ll never love again

    But it’s just a matter of time before that relationship comes to an end

    Once it’s over, you feel like someone reached inside your chest and pulled out your heart

    And you can’t help but remember all the wonderful feelings you had at the start

    Sometimes we break up with the same person more than once, and often more than twice

    Maybe between the break ups, we’ll use someone else as a distracting device

    But sometimes we don’t use anything, we just sit and wait hoping that person will return

    And when we make up, we’re so sure we got the lesson that we were supposed to learn

    But, when you think about it ~ if we got the lesson ~ that make up session would never take place

    Because whatever was done to cause the break up will be thrown (repeatedly) back in your face

    Without saying the words, your mate can pretty much tell you that you are a damned fool

    And if it was done once, it will be done again, it’s like some sick unwritten rule

    But we take it, we take it again and again ~ until finally, we decide we’ve had enough

    Still, that could take years; and even then it’s hard for us to make ourselves call their bluff

    Only then (after you’ve finally gotten tired) do we realize that time will heal our pain

    And one day the tears will be gone, and memories of the relationship is all that will remain

    You and your friends will be able to celebrate the decision you finally made

    Before you know it, all traces of tenderness and sympathy for him will fade

    Then you tell yourself, “He wasn’t good for my anyway.”

    And you thank God for giving you the strength to leave him every time you pray

    You’ll feel brand new, and that alone is proof

    That experience is the best teacher ~ now ~ ain’t that the truth

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    inspiration commented on Ain't That The Truth

    04-24-2009

    keep the truth coming

    Poetry is either something that lives like fire inside you or else it is nothing, an empty formalized bore around which pedants can endlessly drone their notes and explanations.

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