The Jeweled Box

jeweled box

The jeweled box of love and mem’ries springs
Wide; clicking, glinting from the lightened room.
The bothered dust doth make a mist of things;
The air and I surrender to the plume.

My lips move against your ear to whisper
My revenge; hindsight checks my eager tongue.
We move through that fateful week undeterred,
But still you leave, and I remain undone.

I close the box as clocks can’t be rewound.
If pride had not soaked my stoic nature
Would it be that I were here still alone?
If I had knelt, begged: might love still endure?

I stand to wipe my face, to snuff the flame,
To pray for quick respite from love’s vile pangs.

The Scorned

The Scorned

I feel your eyes ask mine to say a thing
About the Judas song now fresh and deep
From your own lips, a sign of what might sing
Within my heart, though they have yet to weep.

I sit as stone, and I begin to boil
With rage as you describe the change you feel.
A diff’rent choice is made; I should not spoil
What love renews! Must I rejoice, or kneel?

The things I wish to say or do, unpinned.
I’d crash your face against the wall and let
It bleed as surely as the wound within
My heart now pours out on the pavement wet.

Though Time has pulled this vengeance from my veins,
I’ll die before I let you in again.