The Misanthrope’s Love Song

honest john
Honest John by Alan Coulson

The Misanthrope’s Love Song

Ah love, the reddest of congealings
Oozing out of ev’ry pore,
And pouring in from ev’ry spout,
And weeping from each sore –
This slushy syrup’s seeping out,
A haemorrhage of metaphor.
Flooded by this tide of treacle –
(Better, though, than sludge or faecal !)
If love must be this sickly sweet,
I guess I’ll have to grab my spoon and eat.

Ah love, the Romeo of feelings,
Acted out for evermore,
With nothing new worth saying,
And the sayers such a bore –
The role we’re always playing,
Like the millions who came before.
So how are we to find the heart
When offered such a clichéd part ?
But if we cannot be the first,
I guess at least this script is well rehearsed.

Ah love, the feeblest of concealings,
Giggling its guffaws galore –
The grinniest of poker faces,
Blurting out the score.
It favours twos to lonely aces,
Bids on hearts and bets the store.
You know, a sharp or cynic could
Defraud such love of all that’s good –
But maybe I’ll relent today,
And sigh, and shrug, and ante-up to play…

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