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Betrayer 

The truth is
this is a fearful place,
constant trembling
flanked with platitudes,
with magical thinking,
failure drowning in cocktails,
lust laughing in a sophomoric comedy
and smoke curling
the clouded forbidden air.
There's a lot of leftover
hippie love
and broken philosophies.
We assent to camouflage,
a whimsical toast,
a sea of well-wishing,
the rejuvenation of a spa weekend.
Before the dusk of empty bottles,
pill-prompted memories,
a closing door,
we consider praying again.
Levels of redemption
kicking us back onto the cross
always just shy of resurrection.

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Speaking of Poetry

  • A poem by Karen Corinne Herceg

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