Open Writing

Ophelia is it becoming right?
Soft love is not the fate that
Waits your daughters,
Though still distraught to find
Men full of substitute.
Camouflage, gunplay – suspect to some higher fate?
Banging, screwing –
Ah but I remember, you also heard the lover’s strain.
Well no one dies of love now
Though lips move in disdain.
Sweet maid would you not recognise yourself?
The body making once its own commitment
Becomes now hardened to rebuff.
It feels no foreign hand a stranger
But ripens into over-ripe exotic lust

Ophelia – a cry to be as sweet as you.
Give preferment to insanity.
It is too cold – too hard for
Love within this modern reality.