The Dove of Yesterday

A poem about tragic love.

I exist in a realm of endless winter,
The blanket of white death an empty, endless plane.
So cold and lonely is the space I was forced to enter
That I had opened my window to spirits of pain
Despite my better judgment.
Anything to quell the loneliness and agony,
If only for a moment.

Frost grows on the thin glass,
The same wicked winter tendrils that 
Creep across my bones as the ages pass.
Merely a small ember is what remains of
My bruised, weary heart from eons of abuse.
As a desperate soul, I would pathetically attach myself
To creatures who would not care to misuse.

So long had my arrangement with life lasted
That my memory had deteriorated to a terrifying degree despite my youth.
Am I destined to remain in this box, to be endlessly tormented and blasted?
It is impossible for me to recount the countless nights fearing death in the booth
Of bedrooms in which I allowed myself to feel.
For years, the cycle would repeat, as endless as
The flow of time, from which none can peel. 

Until one day, a dove found itself at my window,
Peering in with an innocent curiosity.

And so, like all others, I allowed the dove
To enter my abode, thinking naught of
It’s gentle calls and coos, assuming them
To be just another bouquet of fruitless stems.

And yet, despite the dove seeing my state of limbo,
It still chose not to act maliciously.

Eventually, I had found myself exchanging gifts
with the dove, bringing it things I thought would befit
Such a marvelous creature, and likewise,
The dove would show me things it had collected in the skies.
Every moment together was one to be cherished,
And every moment apart felt like I had perished.

I was not used to such treatment,
In fact I expected mistreatment,
And I found myself more confused 
As to why the dove cared that I was bruised.
And so, with eagerness, I opened my heart
To the dove, and for it I created art.

Hearts of paper and words of gold,
Never before had I felt so bold.
In spite of our differences, we grew close,
To break us would take poison of the highest dose.
The dove was my everything,
And to its wings I wanted to cling.

Until the dove broke its wing,
And along with it, the sting got me.

I did everything I could and more
For the bird with whom I developed so much lore.
But the dove had changed,
Forcing itself to be estranged.

My love for it was bulletproof,
But the dove’s the one who shot me.

The dove decided to fly away,
And despite trying so hard,
On my mind this continues to weigh.
I never thought that I would be barred
From the one I love
Through lack of effort
By that very dove.

When the dove came back,
I finally put up my walls.
I would not allow such a hack
To make me fall victim to its calls.
And so I banished the dove from
My home, warning it never to return,
Refusing to lend ears to that scum.

Today, my world is greener,
But sometimes I still get snowed in.
In this time, I have become keener,
Turning its feathers into a duster with a grin.
Yet still, I often fall prey
To the pain inflicted on me by
The dove of yesterday.