Treasures

I have a treasure chest of the things you left behind.

A bad attitude, a frown that looks just like yours,

And a shadow that is well-acquainted with boxing.

I've got a handful of gold that meant nothing to you

And about just as much to me, but there's some hair

Stuck in the loops of this chain that make it special.

I've got a handful of songs that no one's ever sung,

Relegated to memory now like that scar on your knuckle

And the crow's feet near eyes I used to be able to draw

Blindfolded, from memory, in my damn sleep.

I can't remember quite what shade of blue they were

Or if they went grey in the sunlight, or was it the storms?

.

You gave me that French je ne sais quoi that rots in the soul

And aches in the bones like a cancer, the kind of thing to

Rip a person open and make them bleed shadows forever,

Until they've run out of blood and fight and tears, but oh damn,

I forgot that I can never run out of tears because you

Taught me how to dig a well so deep inside myself that

I could supply tears forever, so I'll weep well into the night

Like all the great French artists, until even the stars feel pity.

It's a disease of the soul, a melancholy of the spirit and you

Have packed it up so neatly and left it in the center of my soul.

You left me the heritage of endless heartache.

.

You gave me my own hanging tree, complete with a noose.

I remember how you reverently tied that hangman's knot,

Rough, scarred fingers running along the rope with a love

You reserved for these special acts of poetic suffering.

I've learned since then how to lick the edge of a blade

And worship the stinging pain it brings me, just like you.

I've got my little treasure chest and it doesn't have as much

As I once thought it did but then again, time hasn't been kind.

I still root through it on sunny days when the sorrow festers

Thinking that maybe you left me something good to eat.

But in the end, you left me nothing more than tears.

A heritage of sorrow and suffering and fading memories.