Somebody unclasp the love
Which snarled, leads her to
Fight and twist every which way
As if it were a muzzle
Someone clamped upon her soul

She will not suffer empathy
So mine are not the hands
She needs to become
Liberated. Yours are colder
And more refined.

You have practiced
Short runway landings
Now so they are an art
Land, refuel, and take off
And don’t look back in the fog

Chances are, she will love you
Long after you’ve forgotten her
And that, too, has its rewards
Once she has watched the skies
And cried, she never will again

Yours are the charming eyes
That are fawned over in
Youthful dreams. Mine
Are the ones where comfort
Is sought after the rain.

I am a patient man
One who knows
The longer flight
Is worth the price of the storm
And she is worth the turbulence.

08/20/2009

Author's Note: Dedicted to R.C. and M. P., two "pilots" from my way back when who wrote the definition of superficial charm

Posted on 08/20/2009
Copyright © 2026 Ken Harnisch