Unwritten Poetry

Hell-bent on repentance

I dug up my past

-a stack of confessions

in black ink and metaphors-

my religion,

true and false,

unstructured and incomplete.

 

Forgotten in the pages was

a decade-old whispered poem

to a future lover,

the writer of words and dreamer of dreams

who could make me believe

his theories of history and heaven

and me.

 

I wanted to write him poetry while the world burned

through its tribulation

 

but you only like poems that rhyme.

 

-B.

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