After reading some of my former poems to my husband recently he was very keen in pointing out to me on how I often refer to myself as a "fool" in them. I said, yeah you're right I do indeed think myself as a love crazed fool quite often! It took another pair of eyes or ears in this case to point this very interesting repetition of my own character revealed in my work. Here is one example here.
There is nothing more to say
I see it much too clear
Though ignorance is bliss,
The pretty color's truth.
and I am tired of denial
There is no hope of love.
Though you have played me for a fool,
I walk away unharmed.
And I shall keep it thus
Your games do not concern me,
I've lost my hope with you
Yet I still keep my heart.
There is no room for anger
I am not mad at you,
You are confused of your own will
and leave no room for air.
What might have been,
is useless now,
The chance is lost
The time forgotten.
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