As
I step on
To the train
I wonder: when
He left home, did
Odysseus know the
Journey before him?
And if he had, what
Words would he have
Whispered into her ear
And across her breast.
Between her lips as he
Held her close, and if he
Had told Penelope about
Where the journey would
Take him, would she have
Have watched him go, or
Would she have taken up
A blade, made him string
His bow, and killed every
Last one of his men who
Thought to open that
Damned bag of air. I don't
Wonder this for the quality
Of character found in
Penelope, but because
I can't believe that she'd wait
What felt like lifetimes of
Worried tears, Sleepless nights
And shunning vulturous lovers
And yet not be willing to stand,
Fight, and defy the men, monsters,
And gods who wanted to keep her
Partner away.
Because I don't get on a train to know where I'm going,
Or even to know who I'm going to, but because I know that
She'd fight giants and sirens, sorceresses and nature itself,
Not because of me,
Nor for me, but because of
Who she is, and for what
She believes in. When
I tell her that she's
beautiful I don't just
Mean her eyes, which
Shine when she gets
Excited, or her smile,
Which gives me so much
Strength. I mean it about her
Hands, which guide the arrows
She looses; about her legs,
Which stay standing
When the world shakes, and about
Her heart,which keeps on beating,
No matter how dark the world gets
Around her.
It keeps on beating.
I was told that the greatest example of love is to be willing to die for someone,
But I believe The greatest expression of love Is to be willing to live, Breathe,
And fight beside them, Until the end of the day, The life,The world which stands
against you. Until you both come home, Together.
