There was no Juliet
behind these windows.
No nameless soldier
was greeted home again,
for freedom itself was forgotten,
that freedom which once
quenched the thirst of heroes
with the kiss of its lips.
They chased only phantoms of liberty,
spectacles dazzling as miracles,
yet never beheld the true wonder,
the wind swelling its sail.
Their Juliet lay long entombed
beneath the dowry of bargains,
where love bore no weight
upon the scales of marriage.
And there,
where measure and matter reign,
the heart’s weightless truth
is scorned into silence
by the cold severity
of what they call reality.
