How can you know?

I'm not a poet.

Occasionally though I get glimpses of poetry which need fashioning. This is where I need a friend like Ed Pacht who is a proper poet.

Here are my words followed by the polished version that Ed has rescued.


How can you know?

How can you know the pain you've caused,
leaving me behind to flounder in the dark
alone?


How can you know the homelessness I suffer
now that you have forced me out of the place
where I have loved you, enjoyed being with you
enjoyed sharing what we had together?


How can you know, in spite of your good intentions
of your desire to include, to validate, to make amends,
that your love, though precious, is oblique
and misses the Truth?


How can you know that your love,
although you believe it to be for the common good,
is common only to your ideals,
your goals,
what you want for the world,
and for me?


How can you know, that your love
does not obey the nature of Love,
but shuts it away with me behind a locked door
whose key, you claim, has rusted away?


How can you know, if you say you are a listener,
but don't even hear what I have said in love to you?

And now the polished article. (Copyright 2006, Ed Pacht)

How can you know the pain that you’ve caused,
in leaving me lost in the dark where you walk,
in leaving me flound’ring alone?

How can you know the exile I feel,
forced from the home that I’ve shared with my friends
from the home where I’ve loved you in truth,
and walked so content with you by my side,
with pleasure and sharing and joy?

How can you know, so blind and confused,
the damage of good intent,
the merciless havoc that comes from false love,
leaving correction, attempting to soothe,
and utterly failing to save?

How can you know that the love that you claim
is only veiled love of your self,
only intended to take from the world
that which opposes your will,
and wishing that I be wrest from the path,
long built by the hand of God?

How can you know that your love is not love,
and is but rebellion toward God,
shutting away the truth of His Word,
locked where it will not be seen,
in a cold, dark room that has no door,
where eyes do not see,
where ears do not hear,
and my words of love are ignored?

How can you know that my love will not cease,
nor my endless prayers?
But my constant knocking, joined with His
will ever sound at your door,
and you may come,
only hear,
only hear.

Thank you, Ed.