Saint Valentine
He held not one sword.
Scattering crimson parchment-
encouraging love forsaken by
men with narrow hearts.
Weddings in the cradle of night.
Sweet songs are sung softly,
by few brave enough to witness,
holding candles. Ready to hush their glow
as soldiers scour the streets.
Hunting the steadfast will of love.
Devouring the flesh of those found with
steel and flame- Fed to starven Lions for
the amusement of the starving masses.
Oh, how easy it is to be tricked into thinking
you’re the Judge. That you are superior
when blood is being spilled, and you’ve
been given the idea that it’s at your behest.
Perhaps even, for your betterment.
But, all hearts weep when pierced.
And, all the tears are crimson.
No one was or has ever been truly above the other.
Without the magic that would make two become
one despite the knowledge that they could very
well, be doomed by their eternal pledge-
we are but, mortals.
Two souls, cosmically entwined. Truly superior.
Honest in its vast and incalculable grace.
Humanity’s transcendence.
I’d lose my head for that, on any day.
-James Kelley 2019
|