There was something wrong
With the way he saw
Himself as a force of purity
While seeing her as something
Dark and flawed,
Yet, in the same breath,
Something he professed
He could not live without.

She was unable to love him,
An equation he refused to calculate,
Though the variables had been simplified;
The solution a mystery
To no one but himself.

She floated away
On a gentle wisp late one night,
In the midst of a moonless sky
On the echoes of stars
He could not perceive.

In his anguish, he rent his hair,
Shook his fists,
And blamed her for lacerations
Caused by a knife she did not wield,
His very hands possessing
A will he could not control,
The blade glinting selfward
As veiled curses were cast
In her infinite direction.

She came to rest
On a shore far, far away
An island of personalized solitude
Which she placed in a locket
And wore around her neck,
Her heart belonging to no one
But herself.

11/17/2014

Posted on 11/17/2014
Copyright © 2025 Alison McKenzie