The fire in her eyes seared my soul coal-black,
Heaves of despair slouched her small, scrawny back,
Engraved on her spirit was a weary lonely lack.
For the first time, I fell for a street-side beggar-girl,
Oh, my poor mind was in a wild wild whirl,
Left stricken by the virgin thunder of agape affection,
Lush compassion for this stranger became all I knew,
‘Yond the hills and valleys of frivolity, I flew.
Obscene, the world’s excesses slowly seemed to me,
For roses die, chocolate melts and the taste of wine will cease to be.
Egregiously, we relegate ardor to a yearly Valentine,
Virulent is this madness, I enclave myself in quarantine,
Ensconced blindly in a palace of dearth, our humanity fades,
Ruthlessly clueless, we sit upon a throne of blades,
Yanked away from us is the true meaning of amity,
Taking its place is cold-blooded insanity,
Harlequin romances and flaming libidos,
Is that all there is to showing love?
Nocturnal meetings of Juliets and dreamy Romeos,
Grave desecrations of the will from Above.
Rise, my brother! Flood your sight with the ocean of truth,
It is not a season to kiss Aunty Becky and smooch Sister Ruth,
Spend your kisses on the wounds of the homeless,
Expend your sweets on the bitterness of the hopeless.
The real love I speak of transcends lustful thoughts,
On divine wings, it flutters past this Babylon of rots,
Do let not the folly of everything cloud your sky,
Around the world, a million starving beggar-girls need someone,
You owe them love, make their hearts shine brighter than the sun.
NOTE: This poem won the February edition of the BRIGITTE POIRSON POETRY CONTEST (BPPC) 2016.
