Marie & Diego

 

"Marie, I love you.

Diego."

So simply stated

in hurried handwriting.

Faded unrequited pain,

mysteriously appears

to become part

of the aged brickwork,

weathered by

the hearts torturous rain.

 

Who are you, Diego?

And Marie, does she know?

Has she realised

the messages

are left for only her eyes?

Has she seen them?

Peering through

the other graffiti scrawl

on these once bare brick walls.

 

Is this a fairytale?

Was Marie fleeted away?

Has the wicked witch of the west

left her walking with a man made of hay

along yellow bricked walkways?

Weathered in the hearts torturous rain.

Searching in vain for answers,

when the truth lays at her feet.

 

Is Diego searching?

Glass shoe perched in hand,

knowing that the woman of his dreams

once flew through like sand

blown on the Sahara breeze,

but in her fear, she fled,

for at any time,

ridicule could rear its ugly head,

cause her to freeze.

 

So, Diego seeks high and low.

Seeding his pathways

with sharpie scrawled markings.

This Banksy of the heart,

drawing on his emotions,

his ragged heartstrings.

To show the places

he's already been,

all the faces

he's already seen,

none of them the woman

that still lingers

in his dreams.

 

 

 

Thanks for reading
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"Tales from the 44A"
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Peace, Love & Poetry
Kyle