Stain of Disease

I wrote this poem as an interpretation of a painting I came across in the Boise Art Museum, the title and artist of which have been lost to me. 

I loved you. How I loved and trusted you.

Parchment of life waiting to be filled,

White pages of youth on which paint would be spilled.

The first page was tattered, the next was torn.

I would have forgiven if only you ceased.

So many pages bear stain of disease.

I felt so ugly, my tears bled the ink

of my history with you. I curled when

I dreamt. I bathed and still bore your stench.

Your rust will devour me never again.

The drab pages of existence be cleansed,

Your cries to the heavens now shall ascend.

In a sharpened moment all is complete.

The glint of the blade seals with a rage

The anger, the years, the beatings, the hate.

I pierce with intensity the heart of my foe.

Father, forgive me, for I know what I do.

Vengeance is thine, let him not dwell with you.

I cannot erase the annals of past.

I come to you now with blood on my clothes -

Not his, but mine, the last chapter is closed.

Derek Herzberg

"Rust on iron" by Laitr Keiows - Own work. Licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 3.0 via Wikimedia Commons - http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Rust_on_iron.jpg#mediaviewer/File:Rust_on_iron.jpg