if truth be told
If you want to understand the meaning of life, you need
look no further than she, the woman before you. The truth of it, told
only by poets and prophets, is rarely appreciated.
Women have always been the gatekeepers of sex and life, of heaven and hell. We are born of them, we return to them over and over, for nurture, for love, for acceptance. What they have can't be taken by force, though many have tried and failed and are left perpetually unsatisfied. We have blamed wars on them, but it was not they who launched a thousand ships, not they who wrote the sonnets and poems, but love sick men who thought they knew the essence of things and all were left empty, except when it was done, it was the women who picked up the pieces and nurtured, forgave, cared and kept us going.
Maybe they inspired the song of sirens, but even that myth is simply an admission that men are the weaker sex, and without binding to hold us in place, without blindfolds and deafness, we would wreck our ships simply to drown in their waters.
We, men, exhaust ourselves, and lay consumed at their feet, because they can out last us. They endure heartaches and pain we can't imagine, and yet, they encourage us to remain, to worship at their alters. They comfort us, they scold us, they scorn us, and it is always right and wrong and insane, but we stay because what else there?
If truth be told, there is nothing else, only she.
Women have always been the gatekeepers of sex and life, of heaven and hell. We are born of them, we return to them over and over, for nurture, for love, for acceptance. What they have can't be taken by force, though many have tried and failed and are left perpetually unsatisfied. We have blamed wars on them, but it was not they who launched a thousand ships, not they who wrote the sonnets and poems, but love sick men who thought they knew the essence of things and all were left empty, except when it was done, it was the women who picked up the pieces and nurtured, forgave, cared and kept us going.
Maybe they inspired the song of sirens, but even that myth is simply an admission that men are the weaker sex, and without binding to hold us in place, without blindfolds and deafness, we would wreck our ships simply to drown in their waters.
We, men, exhaust ourselves, and lay consumed at their feet, because they can out last us. They endure heartaches and pain we can't imagine, and yet, they encourage us to remain, to worship at their alters. They comfort us, they scold us, they scorn us, and it is always right and wrong and insane, but we stay because what else there?
If truth be told, there is nothing else, only she.
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