Poem: Another Love Story

This was to be the great adventure,
we were to pack up our pasts and explore the unknown, hand in hand
we would break down barriers, create new histories and legends
to replace so many broken glass moments and twisted grey myths.

We began so full of hope,
but despite our open minded wonder at the majesty of the world
childhood serpents were still hissing in our ears.
We could not escape the stains of black nonsense corrupting our hearts.

It did not take long,
the shame they had taught tracked us down and pulled us apart,
the purest expression of us debased by these pious protestors,
dirtied and distorted until we were justified in our shame.

By the time the end came
we were bodies purpled in a latticework of anger, afraid
we took refuge in the simple destructiveness of hateful humiliation,
all was lost in absolutism. They owe us a myriad of possible tomorrows.

We were to be such a love story,
this would have been the great adventure
but for half remembered lies neatly wrapped in doxology,
abhorrent as it always was, is now and ever shall be.

Seven Months

It took seven months
for it to be said aloud.

I still miss her,
this wonderful, impossible woman.

It’s been seven months
since one dark evening,
one senseless moment
that changed everything.
Seven months of angry mourning,
shocked bewilderment
and one word we were not saying.

Seven months since all the little things
were too much
and in inexplicable despair
she abandoned us.
It has been seven months
without knowing all the whys.

Seven months since she died.

Seven months for someone to say suicide.