The Bow and the Blade

Listing hearts, wavering in the rush of life. 
The how and why are whispered words, 
bitter, twisted, and torn utterances, 
between two long-forgotten lovers 
in a time that was not their own. 

Perhaps it was not you and I, but two so similar to who 
were possessed and desperate to feel again. 
Within our souls, their ancient ache creeps inside and sets up life, 
clearing cobwebs and rearranging our lives there. 

Then of course it repeats again, 
history as it does so often, 
taking and warping and making it known—
some are not meant to be. 

Ill-fated lovers throughout history weep and bend to our demise. 
There in the forest of last September, 
bowing grandly to the fog and the stream and the sky. 
My chin turned up to the sky, 
hands clasped together as the willow tree cries.

This is not you and this is not me, 
the bow and the blade, 
the wind and the sea. 
Fluttering and flittering free as a leaf, 
falling beneath the canopied sky, 
taking a breath and letting it out.

A leaf from long before is tumbling down, over and back, 
wafting in the air and settling down on the woodman's fire. 
Gone in a streak of grey woven smoke.
The fire of love and the fire of hate, 
there in the middle of this ancient state. 
The woodsman is not who we thought that he was, 
he was the one meant to tear me from you. 

My heart sings a song that is only for him 
because ill-fated lovers have always a twin. 
A twin that is stronger and brave and more, 
a twin that is not so identical as yours.
There on the bank of the whimpering stream, 
I take vows to a man that is not you.
It was never for you and it was never for me—
This love that we swore that we wept for to be.