“Black and White” by Alan Valle Monagas

Ste. Chappelle Interior

An apple too far to see,
Grew on the highest tree.
Forbidden, beyond delight,
Delicious, yet so unripe.

We do not mix, you and I.
I’m dark and brown,
You’re blonde and white.
I see all of the darkness.
You see all of the light.
I’m as strange as they come.
You’re as simple as can be.

We make our choices.
We choose our poisons

Without darkness,
Without light.

Love, with a broken heart.
Whose ruptured valves bleed wildly,
On countless pieces of clothing.

I will listen,
To your musings,
To your pain.

I will remember,
All you do,
All you say.

Even if I say I decided,
To remember to forget,
You and I.

I want you to be the Radha,
To my ailing Krishna.
I want you to be the Mary
To my broken Christ.

I would die for you,
If our lives were on the line.
Take a bullet for you,
My partner in crime.

Now say, those magic words,
“Nothing, no nothing, is okay.”
Except for You and I,
And our happily distorted lives.

And on the day we die,
We travel past phantoms,
Who wait on broken benches,
They live outside with children,
Under the clouds and sky.
Surrounded by these stone walls,
Overrun with crawling vines,
In nature’s waiting room.

Behold,
A terrifying gothic gate.
Black walnut doors, obsidian
Devil clasps. You knock on the door.

Orange and black-striped beasts,
Are shackled in the dungeon.

We will meet inside,
This magnanimous cathedral.
Lit candelabra and golden goblets,
Filled to the brim with Christ’s blood,
Which spills on velvet red rugs.
And a fine, old, gentleman,
Gestures at us from a stall.
He welcomes us and whispers
Into your ear. I cannot hear.

“Welcome, to the life inside.
where all our secrets reside.”

Alan Valle Monagas

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