a poem by Patricia N. Rogers
The irony of it all
that cries out,
that hungers for more.
that looks at the empty plate
and demands to be fed,
that lingers on the mouth and longs
for the truth, not a tender kiss.
And yet, the irony of it all: though
we can acquire just about anything,
our lives hang like knockoffs
in a display window,
a presentation to fool the masses into
thinking that a new season has come
while the old pains still mark the lining,
the old sorrow displays its brand name,
and the price on the tag is still
too high for most of us to pay.