Wednesday, January 15, 2014

Story of a hole

On the hillside where the sun doesn't shine
And a flower has not known to bloom, 
Stands a solitary house covered with vine. 
A young lady lived there once, her beauty divine. 
Her skin was snow white and, hair like a summer moonshine
Never have I known a lady more fine. 
But this isn't the story of her, but the story of a hole
A hole six feet deep and six feet wide, filled with Earth and twigs and twine. 
In the hole is kept a box, a box full of nails and stones
Everyday I visit that place when left alone, and look at the words etched with his bones.
Mistakes sure were made that I wish I could atone, 
But tell me if it is a sin to love him or, want him for more?
Come on stranger, let me tell you some more...

About this hole in my heart that I have carried so long. 

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