To the right, and to the left, extreme to another.
I couldn’t see, or foresee taking this plan to lovers.

Why is that when you get used to one swing, one motion
It changes to the other side?
The momentum gives no converse, time of day to feelings,
Let alone pride.

The proud ness of sticking to your guns, despite what had happened last swing
You ignore the pain, the sting
Of the price paid for looking the way.
Telling her to go when you want her to stay.

Have your way now, but coming around is then,
And you’ll wish that you’d picked the latter
Or would that depend?
On what you had in store for yourself before the fact—
But that’s not how love works, there’s no pact
Or agreement when dealing in hearts, maybe minds.
Love in itself is one of kind. Whether you have it for another, or feel down deep
It grinds.
To the gristle, the bone, the marrow too
On either side of the pendulum, fro or to.

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