Poem: The promise in your eyes. (With explanation and description.)

I wrote a poem and below is an explanation of its meaning. It is my first draft and may evolve in time. 

It was half inspired by a girl I fancy while in a state of a dissonant self awareness of the psychological hard truth of it not being real and being real at the same time. 

This is only a daft. (As everything is.) But please enjoy:

Those things you almost promised with your eyes, but not quite.

Left me on my own to die in my heart.

I should know it's a waste to dream of me in a world where there's you.

Even in a world where dreams come true.

What I carry is heavy. Love is want. Greed is wrong. Lust is true.

We love ourselves. It's a lie to say I love you.

You love me means you love you. And I love you does too.

What we mean is love me please. Loving you is loving me.


What we see in someone else's eyes is a reflection of ourselves

So look at me and see your perfect self. 

We could be beautiful.


Explanation:

The psychologist, Jacque Lacan, said that what we seek in romance has a narcissistic quality within in. Narcissus saw himself in a pool, and fell in love with his own reflection and ignored the very woman he was meant to love, a perfect goddess. But it was himself he wanted to see. Behind the romance of love is a hidden truth of self-image. And uncovering that truth shatters that romantic illusion, in a way.

We want to see the most beautiful reflection of ourselves in the eyes of someone else. They serve as a mirror, and we want to find the most beautiful sparkly misty eyed mirror we can find so that when we look in their eyes we see ourselves as beautiful as they see us. And they see themselves in your eyes as you see them, as misty eyed and sparkly and magical. And two lovers reflect each other's images back at each other, the mistiness of that reflection is where the romance is, making each other beautiful for each other.

But the beauty and disappointment of dismantling that misty romantic illusion is that the fabric of our perception is revealed. The truth is not love. What is left, behind all the mist, is two people, each looking at a reflection of themselves. Each wanting to see themselves be seen as beautiful. And we can pull from that reality the threads that create the structure of the poetry within it. By pulling it apart we destroy the romantic illusion, but we can use those threads to reconstruct the romantic quality by weaving them back together in poetry, lyrics, prose, stories or whatever art form you want it to be.

And so, in her beautiful eyes was the misty reflection I wanted to see myself in, always.

 


 

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