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Her Poet's Heart

Life is strange.

She was the only one that ever made this behemoth feel small.
She was the only one that ever made this behemoth feel safe.

Demons clawed and chewed at me while I slept. Malintent their only joy.
My waking hours were spent confused at the wounds inside.

Till one day, I no longer recognized who I thought I was.

What painful visions before her eyes, as I teetered on the wire.
High above an abyss of no redemption and no return.

I should have freed her from my curse, long before that wire snapped.

"Fall!" the crowd shouted. Her soft sob drowned out the mob's cruel chant.
That distant memory of twenty years past, still stung.

Then, life took pity on my tortured past. She wrote, I read.
“I love those souls that make their way back up,” was all she said.

Her poet's heart eased the pain of my eternal wound, again.

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