Random Acts of Poetry

Serial Savior

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I am not a monster.
I see the exquisite beauty,
the prism of light in your eyes,
moonlight reflected in your tears.
Your fear
is pure, it sweeps away every other thought.
I gave you that.

The world gave you up.
They threw you out
all your lovers and tricks,
gave me the right to claim you.
Yet it is their muffled names
I hear,
the syllables strangled, struggling
in your throat,
trying to escape before your
breath runs out.

The wind speaks in whispers,
a hushed music aloft in empty branches.
The trees watch our strange dance
this desperate choreography.
They set a mark at every step,
throw down their leaves as cover
for every lover who lies beneath.
They remember every face,
the culmination of my joy
in that last moment of exquisite pain.

I am not a monster.
I saw the drugs and loneliness
etched in lines on your face,
like the others, fallen from grace
until I saved them
with love and a spade.
Their heartbeats echo in my head
the last tick tocks of earthly time
still beat out here
under the forest’s watchful eyes.


37 Lines
Free Verse
Written for Dark Dreamscapes Octoberfest