Why have I been led to believe
There are golden palaces in the sky?
Magical forests of everlasting joy?
Nations of peace and cities fulsome with angels?
Ocean currents that gently place a sailor into the arms of
A woman who is part mermaid, her hair sea-scented
And her body meant to twist into his
Like a key in a lock?
There is the beauty of a country fiddle
And a horse in midstride.
There is the beauty of a moon that looks down but does not dare to care.
There is the beauty of a woman with long thick hair
Drying her hair and body in front of a foggy mirror.
There is the beauty of things that move on and fade
And there is the beauty of fantasy.
They seem about the same to me now.
I don’t believe any of it, even though I was there
When some of it happened.
See John Tustin’s poetry here.