Anthology of dreams (drownedinwords) wrote, @ 2004-11-24 15:23:00

Promised Land

They talked of Bethelehem,
Of how much they meant,
How little blood it was
To pay for tranquility.

Was this your strength?
Was this your death?
Here, your murder?

Don't think I forgot your birthday, child.
Don't think I'd forget.
Think rather - Did my gifts deserve me?

You, who still wear me on your arm,
Whose cheeks are still undried
You who daily bewail
The loss of that primacy
And know little of what you lost at all.

Do you think I am so mindless as you?
So small as to forget and
never write my lessons down?
So dried and unalone
That I'd cherish scars
Which have had centuries to brood
And grow
And escape their beginnings?

Did you think another lily
pad would float that little higher
So that the air would dry all those stains
On your heels?

Why not stay a while and look at it as it
is and as it
is and was it
as it was?

Would you be afraid to give back those
Words? Would it reduce you so far
To lose that little meaning that might
have once been mine?

I brought a candle with me this time.
And your pillow, dear. Perhaps
Perhaps a little heavier this time.
Perhaps you'll need to breathe a little heavier this time.