The Seven Loves Of Man Poem by Jeff Stoddart

As the play draws to its close, and the curtain starts to fall on the eyes once sharp and clear
Now the pupil's getting small and the coldness starts to creep, and the body aches to sleep, comes a memory full and deep
Of a lifetime long ago.

Into the world he made his start, a tiny life, a tiny heart, he felt the warmth and found the breast, safety, peace and tenderness.
The mother sighed and stroked his face, he liked the touch, the warm embrace.
He snuggled down and so began.....the first of seven loves of man.

And now he's reached the awkward teens, the temper tantrums, moans, and scenes
The anguish fear and hopelesness, the warmth the joy, the tenderness.
Broken hearts, broken vow, misunderstood then, as now
What he touches he demeans, broken hearts mean broken dreams.

And so he reaches twentyone things then really race along
Different girls, diferent ways, balmy nights and summer days
Faster, faster, never caring, never asking, never sharing
Until one day at twentyseven she takes him up to seventh heaven
And by the time he's twentyeight, he's married then, and sealed his fate.

So now's the time for trusting, sharing settling down to twins and caring
Mortgage, measles, schools and bills, Christmas carols, winter chills
He seems content....it's not to be as another scene unfolds we see.

He cannot stop that roving eye and soon another maid walks by
Gives one look and then he falls,
and now because his marriage palls, feels he's trapped needs to be free
But freedom has a price you see.......soon he's living on his own
And all he ever loved.......has gone.

At fifty two his life in pieces, takes comfort from adoring nieces and kids himself to start again
Doesn't realise the pain gets worse as he gets older and though he gets a little bolder
And comforts come in many ways, he blunders through his better days takes comfort in the bottle.....
And goes at it full throttle.

This play which started long ago is drawing to its end, our hero now a bitter man and left without a friend.
He's maudlin., full of pity and no one wants to know but doesn't seem to understand it's time for him to go
He looks back full of anger yet doesn't realise that in this awfull race of life,
There isn't any prize and all that's left right at the end is death in all his glory,
And so the seven loves of man, the theme of this our story......is finished.

I leave you all with but one thought, please say this prayer for me. May the loving spirit rise, take wing.....and be forever free.