Wrong, Wrong, Wrong... Poem by RIC BASTASA

love sometimes
is unrequited, and the best way to respond
to this matter
is to say that it is not love at all,
that this is just pure lust,
and every night that you cannot hold what you love most,
you always go into the labyrinths of
rationalization,
this is not love, it is not love
how can love be like this?
at the end you arrive at the threshold of pain,
where pain is not pain anymore
but a lesson learned,
and you still keep on saying
proving to yourself that you are right
it was love, yes it was the purest of love
felt,
but it was wrong and wrong is wrong
and nothing but wrong,
and you rest your head upon a pillow
beside no one,
declaring yourself as King
as survivor of the greatest misery of all,
love unrequited
as the king of love clapped by the pains
of the majority,
well, you ended it well,
you have a face, a body,
everything in you is intact
nothing diminished, nothing gained,
whole, and
still full of love, despite.