Isn’t All Love Tragic?
I stand at the cemetery of us
A plaque stands at attention
It reads, “their love was fun while it lasted”
And it was fun, wasn’t it
Like a brand new silver bicycle
Although the luster has now faded
And a tinge of rust now shines red
On the handles
The brakes now busted and bruised
“They ran off the road,” they said
And perhaps we did
And ended in a tragic heap
But isn’t all love tragic?
Even those that seem steadfast, true, and pure
Or is faithful, persevering love not in circulation anymore
Our love was tragic like discontinued currency
Like an old pound coin
That you bury in the earth
It loses its power and shine with time
The bones become exposed
And become consumed
we were devoured by the tragedy of us
Dined upon
With knife and forks
Now showing rust
We were divided by copper-toned cutlery
Yet all the shiny things continue to shine around me
They glow and glimmer
They’re everlasting and endure
Like the cosmos
They used to radiate around us for a time
Like the shine of a dime
