The Virtuous Owl Poem by Chris Zachariou

Our wise goddess,
you craved sainthood
but doubts racked your body.

A tortured mind,
you lived a sinless life
in your books and abstinence.

An example to us all
you drank juice without ice
and resisted thoughts of sinning.

You talked of God
and of an old friend

but every time
you said her name
a yearning danced
across your eyes;
but you married
a diploma instead.

Now, your two diplomas
framed hand in hand
on your bedroom wall,
look down aghast at your
weekly and joyless fumblings.

I wonder though virtuous owl.

When your eyes are closed
and you whine that final cry,
whose face do you see?

Is it perhaps
that old school friend,
her wistful voice
still a vacuum in your life?

If only you had a little courage.
We would have loved you no less.