Oh,
how unhappy are the lovelorn
for theirs is an empty heart
They seek
and do not find
They knock in vain
for no one is there to answer
They drink and drive
and steal and cheat
and dishonor themselves and fight
for what optimism they hold dear
They are the gnats around coffee grinds
masters of head colds
and losers of decency
Theirs is the couch,
theirs is a computer chair
and lower back pain
Theirs is uncertainty
the same uncertainty we all face
love lorn or not
but they face it alone
The ones without who have so much to give
the child at Easter who cannot find a plastic shell
They are the unloved and beloved
You cry for them
your heart aches for them
and they do the same
for themselves.
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