A million years ago, maybe more,
A small circle of bone
Carved with primitive hands,
Placed upon a thin leather string
To prove a love that could not be explained.
A love the very stars and many moons had decreed.
The warrior; alone and ostracized,
Alone but for the love and the ring.
A thousand years ago, give or take,
A warrior again, battle scarred now
With the heavy shoulders of Atlas,
And the weary expression of Venus de Milo.
A band of silver, with crown and heart
Clasped hands that hold the love
On a thin leather string.
Comfort that takes the place of the one she wants.
A week ago, to the day,
I fingered the small silver band that rested
Against my chest on a leather string.
That little ring that hung with the weight of twelve thousand miles,
Bringing me happiness and peace of mind,
And a ghost of doubt.
As I held it in my hand, eyes watering,
I thought of every night I kissed it,
I thought of every time I held it and wished,
I thought of every time I explained what it was.
As I cut off that leather sting
That had rested upon me for years,
I thought of every bitter word,
Of the very last resolution,
I thought of my errupting sense of betrayal.
The string slipped from my neck like a small noose,
The ring fell to my trembling hand.
And I clutched it tightly,
And locked it away.