For Him: Apocrypha

Second of a series of poems about a love quadrangle. For a contest.

“a country that does not produce apocrypha is not a real country” �"Xi Chuan

 

The man who cannot bear

the fire of introspection

is a man who responds only,

to the consequence of things;

not their nature. Or his.

 

What level of poverty is accrued

if he doubts the veracity and

authorship, of all love poems, songs,

and letters that anyone ever wrote

and filed in the library of his heart?

 

She said, I love him more than you

for only seeing his best;

I had not the fight in me to remind

her, oh, but you need to love the

Shadow, too, my dear.

 

I understand your dreams,

more than I told you. Yes, I

comprehend- you were called

to stand before your church and deny

the heresy of apocrypha

in your collection of books.

That you could be your own man,

not theirs. You needed to erase me,

burn my existence on the altar

of conformity, to save yourself.

So be it.

 

I answer to the church of no man;

I was called at birth to answer to ancient

beings who guided men before men

got involved in the business of salvation.

There are things that just

should never be bought, or sold.

There are 1000 ways to be unfaithful

that have nothing to do, with sex.

The denial of love is the worst of these;

the hardening of the arteries

that flow from the right atrium.

A heart attack of the soul.

 

A destroyer of texts, is the agent

of Chaos. The act of darkness

worshipping itself.

I know what books you placed

on that pyre, because I was a co-author

of some of them. My contract binds me,

too. I am incapable of lying

about love. I would have died,

I am dying now. My heart will bleed

my body dry before it hardens.

 

The pen in my hand still stirs

in vain to write words of love.

Words that vanquish the darkness

to the fear of which it breeds.

Maybe I would rewrite it all

using different words. Maybe not.

 

But if I did:

you would know me by my audacity.

You would remember it all

when I kiss you. You would

not be able to deny the power

of every word I ever wrote

to and for you. You would place

those books in a vault to be contemplated

a decade after my footsteps fade

from the halls of your heart

where it opens to doors you forgot.

 

Author's Note

part 2 of 4 pieces: for the other woman, for the man, for the friend, for the woman.