We Build, We Destroy

You should have told her
that we not only build
and wish to build like children,
but also destroy, like children
but many times like adults,
grown beings thinking back,
we crumble what’s not a toy.

Like the time in the room
when so much was destroyed,
it was a zone of terror,
there were blinking shards
of glass everywhere,
staring slivers, really,
shining witnesses.

You should have said Look,
I think we can brook this tendency;
after all, it gives us a chance
to create in perpetuity,
but this was stupidity,
too dense to the woes of others,
so you took another course.

Your eyes poked at me,
hoping for this sacred clash
to thrive, not to get blown away
like a poor, pitiable ash;
we had our remorse,
but it was nothing to pause over,
it was like a charred honey.

The woes of others are left alone
like building stones
their scarred flesh is like a tent
under which we can hide, a hide
for the nomads we’ve become,
who build for a day
until the herd leaves.

We embraced one another
while blood still tarred the walls,
while the walls were pockmarked with holes,
while the soles of our feet bled
because of all the broken glass;
we felt there was no other way to forgive
than by sharing some pain.

But how pain goes with the joy
has me pass you now as if in hiding;
I know there is a pettiness we have overcome,
that I could tell you, it would be fine,
but I decide not to: it would be too cruel,
to drag you along with the two of us
into our carnal vortex.