Monday, July 18, 2011
I have memories of a bourgeois romance,
Stifled by the middle-class concerns
Of a small, miserly town,
A town where love was a blasphemy,
And morality a cross
To which emotions were nailed always.
A heartless town with small minds,
And smaller dreams.
I return to it often,
Though a lifetime has gone by,
To hear the hushed whispers of a love,
That still breathes through its tomb
Of dusty lanes and petty houses,
As I try to convince myself yet again,
That for the death of our love,
It was the town to blame,
And nothing else..