I thought he was my savior, but his feet were made of clay.
I sacrificed my soul to him, but still he would not stay.
I cried for days unending
(Could it be to drown my loss?)
For my youth had vanished with him.
And my grief had dulled life's gloss.
I healed with time's slow passage. I began to undertake
Life's burdens by myself alone; my own decisions make.
Through lonely days and tear-filled nights
I came to realize
That happiness is not a gift.
It must come from inside.
I see my love at parties now. I can't believe the change,
For though I'm wise and worldly now, he has remained the same.
We say hello. We say goodbye.
We walk our separate paths.
He never was my savior.
My mended heart holds fast.
Note from Linda Goodman: I wrote this poem in 1981, and I have never liked the last line. Can anyone suggest a better one?