Confession to my journal only cannot efface my being lonely.
A world of opportunity exists for everyone but me:
Kept away from life’s array much like a captive bird of prey.
And how absurd seemeth this choice of compromise and noiseless voice,
The man to whom I freely paired became this net where I’m ensnared;
The only wingspan I can boast is thwarted by my hostile host,
Forefend the thought that I should fly -- to seek fulfilment in the sky!
Nay! Remain a flightless dove, endure this parody of love!
Now players stand where persons lay and husks of passion fade away.
Should I thus mourn the us of old? The hottest spring that turneth cold?
Why did we dig our nuptial grave? A casualty we could not save.
Our pronoun now an entity of paramount absurdity,
Where is the “we” that once I knew? The “he” I grew attachment to?
The Myth of the Immutable has proved itself refutable.
Now may this fledgling find her wings to seek a life of greater things.
By L.R. Chapman
from Modern Melancholy, 2013
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