i. Atonement
Land barren and hollow of life, soldiers
Lifelessly trudging along barracks
In the dead, arid earth.
The mother weeps, for her children have forgotten.
Her songs are sung no more, for
Her daughter, once renowned in her glory,
Remains caged by the shackles of grief.
I cannot bring myself to love you yet.
My heart has been betrothed to another,
A much darker, more twisted being.
From spine to endpaper,
My hair stood on end as I ripped
Page by page, my story erased.
In dedication, I sold myself to a different kind of devil.
Did I confuse the comfort darkness once provided
For numbness? Was it warped?
Like images of wolves running through my mind,
Spun like threads of silk into stories of lies?
I fell from grace, discarded like an empty bottle
From the hands of an addict.
An empty coin purse from the hands of a gambler.
An empty pipe from the hands of a chain-smoker.
Oh, how I crave the sweet nectar of naivety,
To be drunk on idolatry. Was it blind faith
Or was I blinded by fate? Who gives and who takes?
Why did I choose to steer the rudder to a wayward west?
ii. Absolution
I shattered an hourglass in a library,
Blood mixing with sand on a mahogany desk.
Will I be allowed to grieve, knowing
That broken slates sit on the doorsteps of history?
Books burnt and reduced to ashes,
children fed lies, told that the world is their crucible.
To ascend, your map must be blank,
Vulnerable to the marks of malefactors.
Will there be time?
All we do is finite, grains of sand
Slipping through hands,
Ignoring the world’s demands,
Running through where the ocean meets the shoreline,
The moon’s phases track our last breaths.
Will we have time?
How does one spend years alone, yearning
For the touch of another?
You dreamt for years on end
Of a smog-filled city, alive and breathing,
Cogs whirring and machines screaming
In the ways that brought comfort and familiarity.
And as I stare at my bloodstained pages,
I wonder what it would mean if our places were swapped,
Knowing that the cause of this barren earth is partly my fault.
Now we stand divided, on the precipice
Of something great yet terrifying.
Cracked mirrors refract images, bouncing light
From plane to plane.
The moon controls the tide, the ocean puts out the fire.
Yet you say,
“Hurry up, please. It is time.”
iii. Aftermath
I heard floorboards creak as you walked towards me.
You did not listen.
I saw tears begin to well in your eyes.
You did not see.
For that, I am truly sorry.
Perhaps
Apologies are best left on a funeral pyre,
Whispered to the dead.
Perhaps
You’ll appear in my dreams,
Joining me in those leafy canopies.
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