If gods drew breath, and walked the spheres,
You'd be the miracle that banishes fears.
I built my world on solid ground,
Where I slit the softness,
And make no sound.
Yet though my faith refused to bloom,
Your steady warmth dispelled the gloom.
A whispered "Me"
That "I" tried to be.
The honest "Me"
That "I" couldn't see.
I've seen the wounds, the endless cost,
The thousand times your trust was lost.
Each sharp betrayal, like a blade,
Upon a spirit, still unafraid.
Then still you turned, with open hand,
Wanting to love this broken land.
How do you bear such hurt, a constant strain?
And offer solace through the pain?
How do I hold that steel beneath your grace,
When we both hold the same, one face?
You wield the dawn, and I breathe the night,
A walking storm wrapped up in light.
but then comes the chill that never ends,
And in my breast my spirit rends.
Because you—my dearest—cause this chill.
So I forced your beating heart to be still.
That warmth of yours, that tender grace,
Was too exposed for this brutal place.
A paradox I had to control,
To numb the ache within our soul.
I could not wear your gentle face,
And still survive this brutal place.
I built a self of war and rust,
And ground your softness down to dust.
My law wrote death for things that shine,
I snapped your fragile, golden twine.
To kill a love that was divine,
So I could walk this jagged line.
But now
I know—
To hold a love
That is divine,
When only darkness
Dares to climb,
Is a holy, burning,
Rebel's rhyme.
And a wondrous crime.