For Him

A poem about learning not to judge others on how and why they love in the way they do.

If hands tell my story, then behind my back

They shall remain, an armless venus guard.

The lines on your face tell her story, crude, 

Cruel mapping of the pain that Destiny 

Herself chose for you to fall into.

Love they called it.

If eyes are the windows to my story then

The darker, dark glass shall remain 

Supported by the pair who love melodies

Sweet. The lines  on your face speak of a 

Quiver in your voice, of a dwindling fire that 

You yourself had to stock and chop and fill 

And clean and secure for her.

Life you called it.

If life is the final edit, let the film run over,

Too long in places and often too loud. The

Lines on your face have hardened now,

We are watching the next chapter unfurl.

All yours, as you called it. Overtime.

If life leaves a mark, your form will be

Here. The wind leaves our shores now,

I am gone, you can breathe.