'The Miss Of Sisyphus'

i have asked
rich women and men;
do the dead mourn us?

i have asked
the drunk and dosed;
when we are dead,
will we mourn the living?

i have asked
fathers of women,
brides and their sons;
what can the dead see?

in their tired confusion
they rise up, high
in thorned anger; attack,
bleed me cold, but
fail to break
what i know to be
unbreakable truth
only sullied love might touch.

and of you, perfection,
i asked nothing.

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first published in The Blue Nib, Issue 8,2017
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