Awaiting Trips to Hell

Can love save a dying affair from death?

I think of all the times we’ve talked instead,

as though remembering our once shared breath

might shadow the truth of its being dead.

Lies have stripped this soul of life, and I weep

to think that once I had caused you sorrow.

That you despise me is a cost too deep

to pay for pasts that have no tomorrow.

I’ll remember you, my love, when dark comes

to silence my tongue with my own remorse.

Though I love you, tis best that the night numbs

dreams and thoughts, all save this bitter discourse.

For I will talk with death about your eyes,

about your shelter and your love’s deep spell…

about your dear self which caused me to rise,

and of the fall, of waiting trips to hell.

091999