An Endless Love Poem Poem by babylon patrol

Girls who play for money
And girls who play for fun
Girls who play funny
And girls who make you run;
Some play good
And some play coy,
Some do what they should
To be the boy-toy.

Boys who play smart
And boys who play rude
Boys who try art
And boys who act cute;
Some play ‘honest, ’
And some hide inside,
Some promise excesses,
Others that they’ll provide.

All put their little act
Out on display
For offers to collect
By those who can pay.

It looks like harmless fun
And maybe even truth
But it’s a frantic, bitter run
To escape the singles’ blues.

Their bodies & souls
Burn with desire
As they act out pretty roles
They ask for the fire.

The tension of needs
Is the history of pain;
The fragile ego feeds
On its hopes in vain.

The echoes of the gender-error
Are the mothers of vice –
Love junky terror
Demands its tall price.

The glory of the kick
Makes addicts risk their life,
Love till their sick
And beat up their wife;

They cheat on their boyfriend,
They break their word,
But their drug they defend
Even as they hurt.

People fall in love
With one who lives their dreams –
Strong, weak or suave
Or whatever it seems.

When they find out the truths
And downsides of that trip
They get upset and lose
Love, faith & sometimes grip.

The other person’s job
Is to make the lover’s life;
But ‘woe! ’ if it’s a flop:
Watch the drownings’ strive:

Saltwater fuels thirst
And burns the shipwrecked dry;
They go insane first
And then they slowly die.

Manipulation & treason,
Power-struggle, freezing out
make up the winter season
Of the intimacy bout.

When the funeral is done
Life is cold, empty, dark and sad
There’s no moon and no sun –
Regrets feel so bad.

But as the days get longer
Spring brings new birds’ sound,
The wounded get stronger
And there’s another round

Of girls who play for money
And girls who play for fun… -
But there’s nothing funny
About being on the run.

This poem is called ‘endless’ because there should be some kind of alternative or conclusion; in prose, it would be easy to say perhaps something about finding joy, meaning or contentment within oneself. However, I take the running out of rhymes – the lack of conclusion – to be somehow unconsciously meaningful, perhaps the most meaningful about this litany. I guess, much of the existentialist or stoic quest is simply the courage to accept truth whatever it may lead to. While Buddhist teachings, for example, offer profound and beatific resolutions to these insights into truth, on the ground, the being to make the sacrifices is often more in need of the existentialist courage.