Men Don't Listen and Wayne L. Misner 2023©    


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Some Say Love, it is a Razor©

(By Wayne L. Misner,

  The flower “Rose” I have always interpreted as a sign of love.


  The Rose song, sung by Bette Midler, is considered one of the top love songs ever written.

  So many people have heard the song and believe the words belong to them. I know I do. Some say love, it is a razor, that leaves your soul to bleed, describes events in my lifetime. Not only the loss of a mother, father, aunts, and uncles, but losing a wife, a son and a grandson has caused me to bleed. Only my own death will finally stop the bleeding and the excruciating pain of my loss.

  I say love, it is a flower and you, its only seed, is so true for so many of us. The “you” is our parents; significant others, our children and so many more who touch us in our lifetimes.

  Some say love, it is a hunger which I too, get the hunger pains that never seem to be satisfied.

  It's the heart, afraid of breaking, oh yes. Once the razor has cut deep into the heart, the heart wants to escape. If I can hide my heart, then it can’t be cut and will never have to bleed again.

  That never learns to dance, it’s the dream, afraid of waking, that never takes the chance. But these words warn us. If you let fear rule, then you are the one, who cannot seem to give-- And the soul, afraid of dying-- That never learns to live.

  Yes, we can protect ourselves, not feel (not live), and stay at arms length from all. Going though all the motions, without ever feeling all the emotions.


  When the night has been too lonelylonely because; we can’t love, fear love, or can’t replace that special feeling we had with someone.  And the road has been too long--And you think that love is only--for the lucky and the strong. I do this - love is only for those few that are lucky or very strong. The world must forgive me. For I am weak and I can’t, no I won’t let myself dance, dream or take another chance.  

So for those who are strong and willing, just remember in the winter--Far beneath the bitter snow--Lies the seed--That with the sun's love, in the spring--Becomes the rose.