Poem by Jon Wolotsky
The minutiae of the average life
Dull, whimsically unattached
Prohibited by logic, by reason
Inhibited by the treason of his own soul.
Same as all, and all the same.
Mournful cries of reawakened shame
Grieving childhood-sung lullabies
The rocking chair
Third floor, second door
On the right
A kiss goodnight
Aging every moment that passes us by
But learning, too, in each blink of an eye
The ever-turning backs
Being bluntly stabbed
And never-ending flames
Burning the already broken bridge.
But sugar-coated fairytales
Mimic ships that set no sail
Love is sick, but shall prevail
Love runs thick, but will not fail
For princesses in prison cells
And shiny-armored knights who fell
In the proverbial wounded well
Filled with wilted flowers, without smell.
Of tears that run down kingdoms’ cheeks
And love is blind, but somehow still sees
Love is deafened by disease
Of body, mind, and spirit.
From hatred saying “set me free.”
There’s only one thing taught to me
That survived land, space, and sea
Love is lonely, love is ours
But love alone,
Has all the power.