When you approach me,
realize that I’ve been awaiting you
for twenty centuries.
It’s something about the way you move,
the things you refuse to think, to feel, and to do;
how you can march, fighting my glance, in formation;
how you depart, and leave my soul a field littered
with the bones of a decimated nation.
When you move through my life,
entice my heart with your lashes, and beat me down,
batter into the mix of my emotions
the crying of all that I sought.
When you prove I’m wrong, stop listening to this,
and I’ll stop immortalizing you in song.
I’ll forget for what I fought,
and live with what I’ve got.
What can I do? When you approach me,
I surrender, it’s true.