Imprisoned for the sin of being himself
was a long, drawn out, death sentence.
What good is living when you are
abandoned and alone,
when you have no home, no country,
when even your name is an anathema,
and the talent you possess,
your only means to earn a living,
has lost all of its joy?
We can only be who we are;
we cannot change who we love
anymore than we can
change the color of our skin.
I cannot imagine
the fathomless heartbreak
of knowing that even
if you had a way of turning back time,
the end would be the same
simply because you are you.
If he could see the mark
his Wildeness left on the world
and how things have changed,
would it comfort him?
In all earnestness,
I doubt it.
~Elise Skidmore ©2019
