The Black & White Poet
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Under galleries of memory
Lie the cemetery of old love
His shoebox remaining buried. Dead.
Remember when I killed it while alive?
The other day, I had visited his stone,
And he met me there.
My soul felt awkward to feel his presence,
To remember his perfect passion.
We looked at the burial, and –
He impressed the desire to revive what was dead.
How can we
Make life
Out of what we murdered?!
Impossible!
Don't you know?
A new box was created between somebody else and I-
Long ago.
And now, we share life!
I will not betray my new love. No,
He is irreplaceable.
And our box is unbreakable…
It breathes a constant flow of
Sweet air into our entities.
We were created for each other-
We, together, have found our purpose.
I do not have the ability,
Nor the strength,
Nor the desire,
Nor the reason, to murder that.
Passion, future, peace, joy, happiness, truth
And yes, love
Dwell in us.
We – have become the box now.
So, if I bury this box too?...
I bury us.
~DaYnA e. 6/19/06
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