HE TURNED
He swore his song could soften iron gates,
That grief could bargain clean with fates.
Walked where celestials would not have remained,
And called it love, not pride, for love is stained.
Take what I am, but leave me what I claim…
You’ve had her breath; you do not need her name.
If there is measure here, then measure this:
What I can lose against what you would miss.
You keep the stillness; I will bear the ache…
There’s nothing left in me you cannot take.
Let her be weight again, and I will go,
And not once turn to prove what I can know.
I ask no kindness… only this exchange:
Return what’s mine, and I leave unchanged.
And as he sought, he had back her breath,
A silence trailed… yet he stole her from death.
What man would trust a silence as a sign,
To be loved… to be seen… to be mine?
He thought he did it… walk ahead, don’t yearn…
For a moment he waited; he was fated to turn.
Doubt crept in where faith had dared to stay…
A whisper: turn, or lose her anyway.
He bit his lip, counted steps in time,
Each one asking… are you still mine?
My steps were loud to me, mine alone,
The dark behind refused to give a tone.
Every stride made certainty grow small,
A narrowing I could not name at all.
I thought of turning not from fear, but need…
To make it real… this love I could not read.
What is a love that cannot once be known?
A shadow carried, never fully shown.
The light drew close enough to almost prove
I had done enough, that I could move…
Wait… hold fast… let desire not betray,
Do you love her more than reason can obey?
Yet what’s written is written, inked and still,
The cards are exposed… this is death’s thrill.
He knew, and still… he could not wait.
He turned…
at last
to see her…
too late.
Original poem by me. Nara.
