Sunday, February 20, 2011

a bleeding chalkboard

Oh but for you
I would be lost amongst the voices
of the crowd inside me.
But for you
I don't know what tongue I'd speak
or which sun I'd seek.
Something of your echo struck a chord
and now that music is all I want to hear.


As soon as I heard the opening lines of your tale
I was beside myself in grief
watching my body weeping out my own voice
so that I could hear yours better.

If my heart were a chalkboard
from corner to corner it would be filled
with broken vows like "yesterday"
and empty promises like "tomorrow"
next life, next never.

If my heart were a chalkboard
you wouldn't be able to see
whether I was green, black or blue beneath.
Every inch would be rewritten over and over
so full that the empty spaces would have long ago gone bankrupt
so full that each letter could be everything from an A to a Z
each symbol and word representing anything to its opposite.

If my heart were a chalkboard
through some magical alchemy
tears would clear slivers of unwritten space
and leave trails of unspoken truth
as they wash out layers of old words
old wounds and chalk scars.


And so I listen for your voice
at the birth, betrayal
death and rebirth
of every love affair
ever told
every saga and epic
every tale of the heart
that made it to word
in the the hope of hearing
that one wordless love story
that draws me to all these words.

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