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Forbidden remedy

When you are alone
with all those wardrobe skeletons
of losses irretrievable
of overwhelming melancholy and nostalgia
that is the resulting madness of love lost forever,
you will grasp at any straw
of any infallibly failing quality
to get at least some faint illusion
of regaining something of your losses,
like some phoney medicine that only will deceive you,
and that's how some people turn to drugs,
a self-seduction of some soothing liberty
from all your pains of body, heart and soul,
and who has any heart then to forbid it?
If LSD trips help you fly away
from the unbearability of your reality,
if marijuana temporarily relieves your heartaches,
if injections or some snow helps you get on
with that insufferable Golgatha of your invalid life,
if tranquillizing dreams are better than the hell of your reality,
who can debar you from that substitute of love
which might at least give positive illusions
of that love you never had but only lost?
Not I.
I grant you any licence,
for I know that any kind of love
and even flights from love and artificial love
at least, if it is felt as love,
can be as good as any love
and always better than no love at all.

Poetry by Christian Lanciai