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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?
© Johnmichael Simon
2011
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