The Valley

Perhaps I am not a jungle,

As I so previously thought,

Filled with monkeys and vines,

Filled with hidden promises and rot.

Perhaps I am a valley,

Deepened and hollow,

Carved out through days and years

And centuries

Of abominable, swallowed

Notions and motions,

Bitten back insults and thoughts;

Perhaps I am the valley 

That is forgotten about.

Within my worn-away walls

Is the key to my heart,

Is the key to my mind,

Is the key to the soil

Erosion couldn’t rid me of,

Only buried inside,

Deep, locked in a castle,

Of my lonely, hollow mind.

In my valley I wander,

And see pictures of you,

Lost in the rivers, in the places you 

Never knew

About, you never listened to my echoes,

Never heard my cries from below,

You were wrapped in your own jungle,

Your vines were wrapping around my throat.

You didn’t even realize, when you were

The one gasping for air,

That my cries were reaching out for you;

I was right there.

When your tears fertilized my soil,

Built you a beanstalk to my heart,

You turned away into the thorns;

The ones that pierced the parts 

Of me

I’d given you to cherish

I’d given you to love

You didn’t realize that before I perished

I would’ve saved you, my weighed-down dove.

I would’ve nursed you back to health

Transferred my heartbeat to your lips

And with my dying breath

I would’ve told you this:

“My dove, you’re not alone,

My beanstalk withers as I die,

Yet don’t forget about my valley,

Don’t forget about my mind.

My corners think of you,

My edges smooth your flaws,

My rich soil carries your eyes,

My rivers carry your thoughts.

Remember: valleys, they are hollow

And will wither away someday

Remember, dove, that I will die here;

Don’t forget me when you fly away.”