Standing tall, looking regal
With beauty in her bearing.
Savannah has a friend or two,
A family, a home for sharing,
And the strength to be true
To her convictions.
Watching from a neighbor’s window,
It’s easy to see Savannah has everything.
Yet deep within her heart,
She is haunted because a part
Of her life is missing.
On some days she wears her smile
Like well-placed lipstick,
A practiced art she learned years ago
To covers the flow of hidden feelings.
The precise part
Of her thick, brown hair
Implies how well she pares
Yet, at odd, unguarded moments,
Often in the midst of a crowd,
Her liquid cares ooze to the surface
And she feels that which is not allowed.
“Why in the midst of Eden do I hurt?
Why, being married, with certain men
am I tempted to flirt?”
If feelings were sounds,
Her emotions would bound
Through the midnight woods
To a solitary hill.
And there, wanting a soul mate,
From deep within her brain
She would howl the pains of a lone wolf.
She would howl incessantly, mournfully
Because something is missing,
Because Savannah often feels
The winter chill of loneliness.
© Allen Hackworth 2000
Whoa. This poem reminds me of a joke. A man stood before his ill-looking wife who sat on the couch. The man’s hands, voice, and posture expressed his concern. He said, “I know, Martha. I too thought we were soul mates. So you can understand my great surprise when I discovered it is really Susan in the accounting department.”