The Converse of Love

It vaunted itself,
An elegant balloon on the wind.
Sought after
Loftier properties. Unseemly.
It is not love.
It is advertising.
Marketing us
Through regrettable avenues,
Marching along
The narrow channel.
It occurs to me
How unkind such contrariness
Must appear.
Sans faith. Sans trust.
A debacle of purity.
Eager to a fault. An
Unforgiving impeachment.
Chiming its emptiness
In still, motionless air.
A jealous cat,
Hissing and fitful.
I confess. I confess.
I am nothing.

(c) Tasha Chinnock 2006