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Kalopsia
like the gold ring embracing my finger yet
cold and aloof, always more beautiful just beyond my sight
than within it
because illusion is impossibly perfect
a space beyond tangibility and compassion
where perception is a curse word, as we willingly hand over
our judgment for execution
like a gladiator doomed to die, sacrificed for the
amusement of spectators
empty spectators seeking to fill themselves
with the blood-caked sand of the arena
oblivious to the grain they sell across the street
you see
yourself amid the rapacious press and it is beautiful to you
for a moment, look closer
the sleek, glossy pelts of the hunt-dogs will molt into
skeletal mange
you see
that which you crave is an autumn leaf in the wind
doomed to roam until it crumbles to dust
unattainable
perfection is a curse word as we seek to paint meaning
onto the broken remnants of civilization
that which you crave is a lie you have been spoonfed
since you first took breath
you cannot be anything you want
some things are impossible
and you will never fulfill all of your dreams
but this is what they didn't tell you:
the power of dreams is in the act, not the fulfillment
impossibilities are the roadmap to your life
and who you are is beautiful, because
not despite, like you have been told
because of your flaws, your failures, your sorrow
these things do not define you
they make you complete
Copyright ©
Olivia Estep
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