Sword and Sanctuary – A Poem

I held the letter in my hand.

It was waiting for me

when I arrived home.

I knew that he had left it for me,

one last gift or something

made to hurt. Perhaps

a little bit of both-

he was good at that.

His gifts came with strings,

his councel came a price,

and his company with

sacrifice.

In the letter,

he told me that he had

moved on, he had found

someone better than me.

It was like a knife.

with only one purpose.

I’d finally let him go.

He was like holding on to

brambles and thorns,

that took blood from me

as payment.

To get away from him,

I had fought against the

thorns he offered and hid

inside the forest,

in the branches of the trees

looking out until he

had gone away.

It was fitting that

his last words to me

cut like a sword.

That he sliced into me

as I had done to him.

I’d cut him out

to save myself.

I stood, holding the letter,

running a finger along

it’s sharp edges.

The cut was fast, like a blade.

The paper became bloody

in seconds,

the shape of trees formed

on the paper drawn in my ink.

The trees  were shaped

like the forest I had hid inside.

The branches were moving

on the paper.

Intense heat ran through me.

It wasn’t anger, just the knowledge

that the forest was no longer safe.

It was done providing sanctuary.

My hand grew warm.

When the flame erupted,

in the middle of my palm,

I was not afraid.

The burning of the paper

like the crackling of leaves,

brief and quick.

The letter was simply

ashes now.

When I blew the ashes away,

the cut on my finger was gone.

I took the sword that he

had offered to me

and used it to

cut him

away.