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Does it Really Matter

If there was domestic violence back then,

repressed feelings of inadequacy, incest,

ingrown toenails, body lice, poetry, music,

works of art never created because of the

high price of vellum or because Rome was

sacked by barbarians that night?  What we

are looking for are letters chiseled in granite

by stonemasons, taken into slavery by kings,

conquerors whose names are carved on

tombs and temple portals.


Does it really matter if a mist-eyed peasant

girl, dying of tuberculosis, stroked the beard

of her married mentor who had children

older than her, saying our love will last forever,

stories of sons and daughters, jealousies and

dreams, washed away, eroded, vaporized, cloud

matter that drifts, leaves no trace on rocks

or flagstones?


Will anyone wipe away a tear from a sphinx,

hold a coin collection for orphaned children of

soldiers buried alive besides their emperors?

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© Johnmichael Simon



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