It’s idol fancy to fancifully idolise
fancied idols. And yet, dimly lit,
reverence was vindicated,
and standings equalised.
We’ve knelt at different altars,
sung our own songs til morning,
yet amongst a sea of blue lights
we were and are the same.
I’ve made this mistake before,
recognising grand sameness,
in an unfamilar stranger.
Surely, I’ve learnt my lesson.
But this defeatism, this fear
of the known and the unknown
is what I was led away from.
Learning from fear, embracing exile.
But what exile is exile, if surrounding you
are kindred exiles? At what point
do you cease to identify yourself
by who and what rejected you?
A society then. Of two, the plenty,
and many more besides.
I’ve wandered too far
from my tutor.
I learnt, once, never to love my therapist.
Alright then, what of a stranger
who simply offers therapy?
These lines offer no definition.