Apostates and Apostles

I saw you there, aglow,
in that midwestern, twelfth-month, noon-night,
standing in the snow.
In all your charming beauty fair,
all blue eyes, and white blonde hair,
carrying your parceled heart,
just waiting for a love to call the cross you bear.

It came quickly, and left the same,
just as the season, fleeting,
fleeing with the cold and blame.
And you played it, oh so well…
dressed in black, your shroud laid out
for all to see and all to tell.
Something to hold to their chest so tight,
while reciting all their lovers prayers at night.

In the midst there, I stood alone.
Dark eyes roving, raven hair flowing,
like Death’s Horse known,
galloping onward to a victory so great,
our legacy, the story of our blood and bones.
We can’t refuse, we need each other to create,
for me to give, and you to take,
for me to deliver, and you to break.