Black and White

An apple too far to see,
Grew on the highest tree.
Forbidden beyond delight,
Delicious, yet so unripe.

We do not mix, you and I.
I’m dark and brown,
You’re blonde and white.
I see all of the darkness.
You see all of the light.
I’m as strange as they come.
You’re as simple as can be.

We make our choices.
We choose our poisons.

Without darkness,
Without light.

Love, with a broken heart.
Whose ruptured valves bleed wildly,
On countless pieces of clothing,
And a host of broken bones.

I will listen,
To your musings,
To your pain.

I will remember,
All you do,
All you say.

Even if I say “I decided,
To remember to forget.”

I want you to be the Radha,
To my ailing Krishna.
I want you to be the Mary,
To my broken Christ.

I would die for you,
If our lives were on the line.
Take a bullet for you,
My partner in crime.

Now say, those magic words,
“Nothing, no nothing, is okay.”
Except for You and I,
And our happily distorted lives.

And on the day we die,
We will travel past phantoms,
With flushed faces, who live
With children, resting outside
In the benches, under the gray sky.
In nature’s waiting room,
Trained tigers are shackled,
Surrounded by stone walls.
Behold, a terrifying concrete
Gothic gate, with doors as tall and
Thick as trees, with obsidian clasps.

You and I, will meet inside
Of this magnificent cathedral,
With fires, golden goblets and candelabra.
Filled to the brim with Christ’s blood,
Which spills on velvet red rugs.
And a fine old gentleman, waiting in a bench.
His stare welcomes us. He whispers
Into your ear. Something I cannot hear.
“A place, where all of our secrets reside.
Welcome, to the life inside.”

Alan Valle

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