Love and Words




Hell is the house

Love moved out of 

when she wanted better things.

It wasn't

that she didn't have

everything she could need

within those four walls.

She was just 


any air to breathe.

And in the days

before she thought

that maybe moving in had been a mistake,

she would sit 

in the window,

looking at the world outside,

and count all the blessings 

that being in Hell made.

There was


and shelter,


and a kind of

passionless grace.

Within the walls of Hell

there was no fear

of a lonely, old age.

And yes, 

there was a kind of affection there.

Only the kind you might share

with the things you find familiar

but really,


not necessary

to your being there.


Love had always been

a reader.

You could find her

squirreled away

at any given moment,


any given thing, 

and the words she thought of now, 

pained her with their memory.

That the imagining of pleasure or pain,

affects the dreamer,

as much as the dreamed.

And every endeavor 

that begs to be undertaken -

demands payment.

And Love, 

in her rising lament, 

was beginning to rage

at the way her life 

seemed to be


But still,

the promise of Hell 

is a powerful thing,

and Love 

would force herself to think

that what she was doing 

was a needful thing 

and try even harder to forget her dreams

and learn how to live

in the midst of hellish things.


And when Hell would say, 

'Since I met you

I feel complete,

and isn't it wonderful

How almost nothing

About my life

Has changed?'

Love would ignore

her thought,

that there is something wrong,

in being able 

to say,

something like that.

And tuck her head down, 

and move her feet faster on the wheel,

trying to speed the end of the day

But time has a habit 

of sneaking in and showing you 

old movie reels

of where you have been,

and what hope

once carried you.

And Love finally 

could not ignore what she felt,

that when she was away from Hell's walls

she was alive again.

When she caught herself


a life that was beautiful

and full of passion,

the only way she could see that would happen,

would be to meet and have

a secret affair - 


she finally realized,

she had no home

with Hell here.

And decided,

she wanted, 



So she moved 

from out of the palace walls,

leaving behind the riches

and worships,

and the promise of never being alone.

And walked down the road,

past where the pavement ends,

and followed the path,

that led into the forest,

that was filled


the songs of souls.


decagon          poetry



c.2011 Cassandra TribeAll Rights Reserved