Oh, to be Fictional
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If I was a character in a novel, and she was, When I first encountered her face, and was Stricken, truly, by its perfection, I would have Hastened to her, and said, "Though I haven't Yet learned your name, I am awed by your Beauty. We should be in love," and, being Some shallow hack's shallow invention, And she being likewise, we would fall in Love, though, perhaps, our creator would Sever us later. Sadly, the perfect-faced woman and I are Real, and burdened with actual lives. We Have pasts, and presents which do not so Easily mesh as those rising out of one mind, So it took me a week just to find out her Name. We're both somewhat cagey. I can't Say she's lovely. She can't say she already Knows how I feel. We don't know where we Stand with the rest of the world, and we dare Not speak much. We could say something Wrong, and people around us could begin To gossip. Even if all went well, it would at A tortuous pace, and it cannot go well. We're not set-piece players in somebody's Novel. We're hobbled by unwieldy lives. © Lawrence Beck 2023
Thoughtful and wonderful poem.
You can certainly see your writing skills in your work. All the time go after your heart.
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