Parasite

The lovers moved, hand-in-hand

Through a misty morning, a sunny afternoon

A windy evening, a calm night

Always, one hand in another

But was it them holding hands or him holding hers?

 

They say many years ago,

Came a traveller brave.

Fought many wars, his battle-scarred chest out in humble pride

He fought the peoples’ battles, protected their dreams

The one he could not win was with himself –

For she inundated his heart with a gale so strong, a storm so severe

Was it them fighting battles together, or him fighting her battles for her?

 

Then up above the sky

The throaty pigeon comes home, morsels for his betrothed

Clutched lovingly in his paws

Their beaks meet, their eyes avert, for they are still young

Is it the love between them that sustains them, or his love for her?

 

Whether children of today, couples of yesterday or pigeons who know not our love

Their world will fall apart one day, if not for:

One word, seven letters.

And many summers to come, many winters to face

Through springs of togetherness – but they’ll be short, if not for

One word, seven letters

As I run through time, keeping the curtain closed

On the beating heart thudding with anxiety

I try, and I try, and I try.

For without it – one word, seven letters:

Balance.

 

All will end, ‘til when can the parasite keep on feeding from the plant before it dies?

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