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Amor Vincit Omnia
Her day is passed in sweet insouciance,
my own debilitated by this pain:
I lack all satisfaction: no disdain
is motivating her. No piercing glance,
no hurtful word, contemptuous, askance,
perturbs my consciousness. Against the grain,
she wounds me by her kindness. Grace’s stain
contributes to my woeful circumstance.
Some harshness on her part would help it end.
Without hostility, I’ll never mend.
Yet something drives me on, when things get tougher.
Through knowing her, I’ve learned of The Sublime,
Uniqueness in Normality, and I’m
reminded of love’s vigour, and can suffer.
Copyright ©
Michael Coy
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