Foolish Love

Can I be saved from even righteous anger?

Can betrayal once ached be made somehow invalid,

struck from experience like crossing days off a calendar,

some mitigation by less perceived malice?

Can the residue left be somehow reconstituted,

reformed into a facsimile of trust so defeated?

Can gullibility as defense be refashioned

until one future day trust can be offered again?

Can you say where was this betrayal seeded,

close enough to inflict heartache

but so well disguised the heart missed

or dismissed as frivolous gossip?

Too many days, too many ways, too confident in denial

lent credence to vulnerability,

allowed the blindness love’s foolishness infects

to bring the sadness false promises inflict.

Ah, but if grudges were made of silver I’d be a baron,

if self-pity could be worn I’d be in J.Crew,

sharp dressed man, rings on both hands, wingtips spit shined;

if love so scorned could be reborn, I’d still have you.