Three Thousand Days

Just about an inch and a half below the skin
On the left side of my chest
near the sternum, there is a hole
where my soul used to be.

A churchful of candles can't erase
from memory the look on your face
when I told you,
what you had suspected all along.

Stealing hearts is the worst kind of thievery:
A shy look, a soft word spoken
at just the right moment, a should to lean on
at just the right time
                          and you're mine.

And ten years of my life the price.
I would gladly give you
back the love you gave to me
in exchange for all the time I've wasted on
you.

But I(it) am(is) older(colder) now.

And the hole is finally full.
Finding your soul again is like raising the dead
like giving voice to the words I should have said.
Where once eyes looked at me with scorn
now eyes gaze at me with kind regard.
Where once my wounds were left untreated
now soft fingers trace scars long since healed.
Where once a gaping silence ached like my heart
now tender words of kindness settle on my ears.
And my soul is finally full.

11.28.1998