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Love cries tears, hard; a begging bard
Where ink and hunger presses
Her half-confessions to a page
That keen conscience undresses
Half-truths and pride may try to hide
And feign half-happiness-es
The pen’s full weakness uses words
To pretend love’s successes
The tongue is ruthless and uncouth
There love trips and transgresses
It mangles, tangles, strangles joy
And would-be happiness-es
I wish the air could be wiped bare
Where poor word-choice expresses
The weakness of this thing called love
That hurts and haunts heart-tresses
There is no brush quite large enough
To vanquish uttered yeses
…because we care, tears rend the air
With harder happiness-es
© Janet Martin
Some happiness-es are plainly and simply... harder; but they still count!
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