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"But love's a malady without a cure."
-"John Dryden"

Forbidden Song

The jury sits, pallid and grave,
well versed in the ways of "society" and "correctness",
he appears, drowned in confusion and numb to all else,
convicted of the dreary charge of "forbidden" love.

No words exchanged, for there is no need,
the sentence rings forth, pierces his breast like a dagger,
"Your love is a mistake, your mind a mess,
listen to the wisdom of the ages".

And it stings, it burns,
but he is not one to show.
Take my arm, take my leg,
but I cannot live without my heart.

And take away all I may need,
food and drink are careless indulgences,
but allow me the liberty to, in those dying moments,
find warmth and hearth in the home of my heart.

And lock me up, lock me in
in the darkest places deep, deep down below.
Though I may live amidst the unknown, scary and dark as it is,
the light of my heart shall guide me on.

Do it all, punish me so,
but for the love of God, let my heart go,
hearts are necessary, hearts are indispensable,
how can you perceive the love of God without them?

The eyes scan the murky darkness,
there are people around him, but they live in a different plane
his lover in his eyes, somewhere far far away
from the island moored by "society".

For love he chooses to go to the farthest points,
his world is that lover, unknown to even him at this point,
yet all he needs is love, the oil for the lamp of his heart,
a shame indeed that that love is forbidden.

And woe be to love, woe be to its permanence,
its rigid adherence to the faculties of the heart,
we hope to break free of this, to untie its grasp on us,
but love's a malady without a cure.

Date: 15 October 2020
Quotable Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Regina McIntosh

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