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.
