Romance is an aging book that deserves a good rewriting. Satirical poem about love. |
Roses red and violets blue Love too thin to be consumed Roses painted on canvas skies Underpinned with fabric lies Such simple shows of love or hate Make truth a sorry, sad inmate Such tales of gloried ecstasy Deglorify complexity Clichés are thrown from every height To compliment inadequate might Where passion was, there’s barren land That leads to roses changing hands. Names in sand and rings in gold Lets not an ancient love unfold, But rather dried and tired breaths That sound like sighs but stand for deaths Of passion hot at violent core Yet, even that’s been done before The dreams you had nocturnally Are plastic-wrapped, externally Dull and matte and awfully bruised, So curious that one would choose A romance deep as ocean’s foam But better, surely, than all alone For that’s our fear, for that’s our plight We find a lover out of spite To please the self-dementing mind That aches for banal and benign It isn’t love, that organ cries If not reflected in pinkish skies Or perfumed nights, which are rewarded With peppery love that’s much less sordid Than ugliness that is more true Than roses red and violets blue. |