HISTORIAN

I am allowed to love

his dark secrets:

the ceaseless man who

fears no death or darkness;

the songs used to

germinate stolen from

the people I should call my own.

I am allowed to love

his violent past:

shadows of wars

battled beneath brutal bygone suns;

the steaming blood

cools enough to

slake the victors of the fray.

I am allowed to love

his past beyond that:

unrelenting.

Hooked upon the

singing hearts of a distant people,

the ones who came before,

innocent and guilty and ancient,

and I understand that loving him will kill me

but still. I love.