I walked alone this earth,
walked with nothing but my feet along the sea.
A long road it seems; weary
and burdened, I walked for miles endlessly.
To see no sun, feel no zeal under the bright noon,
no light, no crisp draft beneath the full moon—
so dull and faint, my fading reverie.
My fate seemed sealed ‘til the day my path crossed hers,
‘til the day the woman I love saved me.
Alone I totter—blue skies overhead,
with a softness high above where I cannot see.
Standing on the calm of white cliffs,
carrying me, my yoke, and I so steady
and high, beyond, safe from the raging sea within me.
There is a light that brightens, the sunlight of hope,
There is a light that frees, a glimmer of evening’s globe.
With the woman I love, I quietly caressed,
by the cool breeze under a towering oak tree.
No more will I walk with two feet—
now four—and her smile so beautiful, so carefree.
A touch, a whisper, a tender together,
a belongingness—an intensity encompassing
my heart, my soul, my being with childlike glee.
So warm and bright is the light of high noon,
so cool, so serene, the waning light of the cloudy moon,
Time is now filled with her, with love,
with love, of love, from the woman who loved me.
Sauntering without a care in the world,
her hand holding mine, with fleeting hints of agony;
with a love that comforts, I am laden no more.
And yet, my love has begun to grow colder to me—
her distant gaze, words of discomfort, a ruse I can only perceive.
Hope setting in the distance, the skies turn gloom,
the moon comes watching our every move.
Gazing at her squander my love so unkindly,
the woman who meant the universe to me.
On a cold, dreary November morn,
I paced slowly for her cozy home.
Her locks left opened by the hidden key,
under the modest Welcome rug, sign, and marquee
to surprise her with bundles of roses and lilies.
Slowly, surely, I tiptoed over to her bedroom.
“Strange,” I muttered, confused, her lamplight lit akin to the moon.
All concern and dread rushed all over me.
“My woman, my love, what have I done to deserve all this agony?”
I trembled, hearing noises from inside her shut bedroom door.
Once t’was opened, carnage left me frozen on her floor.
Distraught and ire was what laid bare in front of me.
Seeing eyes frightened, staring straight with disbelief,
her lover under sheets of white embraced whatever my love bared.
“No, love, believe this is not what it seems,” weeping, she.
“The sun, moon, and stars tell you are my one and only.”
Blinded by despair, asking questions I tried not to seek,
daftly cursing the air, all answers were right in front of me.
“My love, my love, I will always be,
“forever yours for all of eternity.
“O lover, are those tears shed for me?” said she.
“No,” pulling gun then trigger, I hushed quietly.
There is a light of smoke, so sudden and loud;
there is a blackness of blood spilled, of anger unbowed.
A bullet through her lover’s head, a bullet through her chest,
and now I can no longer caress, no longer see,
the woman whom I have loved—and love still—with all of me.
Barred and treading alone this earth,
marching with nothing but chains on my feet along the sea.
A long remorseful road it seems, weary,
and burdened, I will walk for miles endlessly.
(This thought still haunts me.)
To have seen and lost the sun under the bright noon
and to have borne hope under the full moon,
once so bright and clear was my reverie.
‘Til the day our paths crossed,
‘til the day I killed the woman . . .
whom I loved with all of me.
Written on January 1, 2013, exactly five years ago.
