It was a bitter day, not the weather but my attitude towards love. As a lass often thrust into dream land by the classics - literary works of romance had and lost, unadulterated letters of feelings and passion.
Is our generation void of feeling? Or just emotionally stunted?
Discussing this frustration with a friend and fellow classmate a few minutes prior to class, we agreed that confessions of passion through poems and sonnets should have another go-around. Class began and my thoughts and passive whining faded to discussion of environmental ethics.
The next day, I received an email from a classmate who had been inspired by this simple, retrospectively ridiculous conversation. Nonetheless,
to fields expansive flat and gilt
a queen of ice, then plain and grain,
she of beauty, shall never wilt.
A siren’s song, and flaxen framed
her ethereal eternal countenance.
Lady of the port, so named,
toward whom blurry lanterns dance.
There are other worlds than this
and in them other women fair.
But all fall short, their targets miss,
and none to Chelsea can compare.
Atop a hill like a beacon’s shine
more intoxicating than strongest wine.
I guess I'm not always right.
