There is a silence between us

that reflects the way I think of you,

the way that you easily slipped into the guise

of the creature in black, the despot with red

insignia cross who bellowed orders,

wishing to not be only obeyed

but to make me suffer with open wound

everywhere I went

and everywhere you wouldn’t take me.

 

I held out for so long, my resistance total, and yet

from the fist initial meeting, you tried to control me,

the detour you took me upon,

both away from what I held true and coming back in your car

should have been enough to have me running

to the hills and screaming in terror at the thought

of your raging tempest;

I still lay awake at times thinking that you

and Caliban were somehow separated at birth.

 

I have managed to put the phone down upon you

so many times and yet the silence that now reigns

in splendour and thanks is one that has but lasted a year

and yet I still look over my shoulder,

I still fear the rap at my soul as the vitriol

in your black Nazi like heart, fuelled by hatred of the different,

that still simmers with authorative begging to be heard,

could still one day break the silence

between us.

 

Ian D. Hall 2015.