Passion Poem by Margaret Alice Second

My magnificent obsession used to be writing, playing
with words still is my passion, yet I have landed a job
where mutilation of language and dreams is the main
thing going on; mixing rules and regulations with the
enunciations of people who cannot care less for the
beauty of sound

Who hate poetry with a vengeance, who destroy rhythm
wilfully, refusing to consider alliteration and assonance,
my heart is broken, I live my life in my mind, my citadel
keeping the magic, power, wonder and sound of sing-
song words alive - but sometimes the cold consensus
of inter-subjectivity

Penetrates the protective armour I have created and
leaves me writhing on the ground, shocked by modern
civilization’s attitude to the sacred in harmony, making
a fetish of appearance, reducing all dimensions to the
visual without reference to the divine mystery of
symbol and meaning