I never used to believe in Hell.
Until all I could do was watch you,
as you were laying on the floor,
shedding tears, for days
that would never be.
I could see no wounds,
but they were there;
deep
and ugly.
Jagged tears in vital parts of you.
All I could see were tears.
Tears that soaked into the old floor boards
of the house your parents were married in.
The place you spent
long, youthful summers.
The place we met and fell in love.
We were just kids,
but we grew together,
on long, summer nights,
we counted stars
and told secrets
and formed a bond
that grew roots,
deep as trees.
We were married
and had children
and all was right with the world,
until the doctor came in
holding that manila file
and told us that I was dying of cancer.
I was gone three months later.
Tears still flow and stain that old farm house floor,
your sobs wracking your body,
tearing through you like lightning.
I can only watch you,
though I cannot see your wounds;
I know they are deep
and ugly.
My love,
my wife,
you don’t know that I wait for you.
You don’t know that I’m there
and I can’t help you.
I never used to believe in Hell.
HG – 2016
