Leather bodies. Ceramic body parts.
Perfectly painted faces.
the kind you see on city streets
or the opera
in various stages of dress.
Zombie dolls, ready
to be whatever they are told to be,
whatever will make them
a poor excuse for the real thing,
but it all they know, all
their life’s dictionary has taught them,
with empty eyes.
About this poem.
I see too many broken people, who have never experienced real love, the stuff of 1st Corinthians 13. Instead, they are caught in love lies of abuse, gaslighting and emotional captivity.
It makes me sad. It makes me angry. It makes me incredibly grateful for my wife and children and the love they share with me. No zombie love for me.