A Tale To Tell

   I used to tell the most amazing stories. Tale after tale I never tired of spinning the yarns of time and imagination. She was my audience and I waited on pins and needles everyday until her return to spin her yet another fanciful story, witty limerick or loving tribute. It was my dream come true. To share that part of me with only one person on the face of this Earth. Even more than sex the ability to entertain her was my climax. My Cathedral Church. With that exclusive tribute, she too would know her worth to me.

    Surely there were more who may have wanted to sit by the campfire and hear my latest jokes, sing with me my favorite notes. Or just listen to the tone of my voice tell stories of far off places that included their name. But that was not my faith. For my only gift was the only treasure I had to pay for my prayers to be answered. I had the ear and attention of a goddess! And I would pay that price and sacrifice everything and everyone to have it.

    In the fullness of time and the dying of my ember I expected to relive my tales in my next life with her as my sky. It was my faith. It was my heaven. It was my infinite possibilities. It was my greatest lie. My greatest downfall.

    It didn't have to happen the way it did. I was there. If she had truly served the light, she would have found another way. There is always another way.

    Now everyday is an eternity of emptiness. Where the wind is like dry sand in my mouth. And my words are like cactus to my tongue. The milky essence of my soul wells up as if milk in an overladen unmilked cow.

    To the ending of a tale the words "because I love you" are hollow to me now. Rebounding off the emptiness of a lack of an audience. In fact, if asked what love truly is. I would only be able to paint a picture of pain. For all divinity has been taken from me. I paid my treasure for an empty chest. And the ear of a misguided goddess.

    I roam now without goal through the country upon my dusted ass. Telling what tales my heart has strength to tell. Like beggar I roam the streets of the electronic to pay for my meager allowance of glory. For the ears I once shunned are all the ears I have left to hear.

    For truth it is not I that ride a dusted ass. It is this gracious beast punished to have an ass ride upon it.

    For this I can never forgive her. For I can never forgive me.