Muses
On my own I listen to the radio
There are songs for astonished young lovers
deranged by desire
There are verses for broken hearts
dumped and depressed
There are anthems of revenge
with a beat of hurting rage
There are misogynistic marches –
a soundtrack for the beautiful babes
There are triumphant celebrations
of the smug soulmates who endure
There are unrequited tunes when
longing twists to something darker
But where are the laments
for resigned realists who’ve learn
that finding the one is a mathematical myth
and happy every after is a way to know the fairytale is finished?
