The Best That I Can
by Michael Doyle

Even for a poet doing the best I can,
I wish I were, in some ways, a better man.
Sometimes, I can't write another line,
Though I wish I were her Valentine.

Hearts impede and sometimes implode,
Like a well-played violin that is over being bowed.
There's not a lot that I feel I have left to say.
It's just a bit of loneliness on Valentine's Day.

It's not like I'm looking for any sympathy, 
But I feel like everyone has forgotten empathy.
I do what I do, always doing the best that I can
Who'd have thought a poet would be a lonely man?

I take another deep breath, feeling on a roll.
There's an emptiness that I feel down to my soul.
Watching other lovers express their true bliss,
I wonder to myself, looking around for my happiness.

The day was good and led to this moon-lit night,
I was thinking to myself about the last time I felt right.
It came just before you told me about the other men,
And now I feel certain I can do without you again.

It's not like I'm looking for any sympathy, 
But I feel like everyone has forgotten empathy.
I do what I do, always doing the best that I can
Who'd have thought a poet would be a lonely man?

Playing my guitar, pretending to write a song.
But I've nothing to say that feels very strong.
All these words that used to fall into a rhyme,
I still wish I were somebody's loving Valentine.

There was a time you were on me like a shadow,
Now I find that you find it hard to say hello.
And at risk, I feel, I may be sounding shallow.
I'm always guessing at mysteries I'll never know.

It's not like I'm looking for any sympathy, 
But I feel like everyone has forgotten empathy.
I do what I do, always doing the best that I can
Who'd have thought a poet would be a lonely man?

(c) February 14, 2026    Michael Doyle
All Rights Reserved