I’ve read all of your old letters again,
Gone through them page by page.
Each word still clings to its place,
Ink soldiers, defending their old posts.
Each with no intention of giving in or abandoning
Its place in history, to new white spaces.
What they say is that you’ll always love me,
And that you will always need me.
When I read them again, I almost believe them.
But deep in my heart, I accuse them,
Consider them heretics, that one day,
When faced with the fire, will deny it all.
And then I think of the ghosts of history,
The burners and the reformer.
The real heretics are not those that burn,
But those that light the fires.
Am I more guilty than your words,
Poor soldiers who trusted you who sent them,
And kept steadfastly to their pages?
So I forgive them and honor them.
I let them live to freely proclaim,
What they promised would always be true.
When I wrote this, I had written Anneliese many love letters, but she had left me. I have many other letters that I have written her that I have not give her. They are in a save deposit box and I happened onto them and though about taking them and buring them, but decided against it. One day a few years ago after she had married, I took several letters that I wrote to her and destroyed them. I went to a place near where we worked and there is a bench there near a river. I sat on that bench much of the day alone thinking about her. It was not to long before I killed myself and I sat there with those letters. She was married and had not spoken with me in a long time and the letters haunted me. I had no place to send them. I didnt have a work address or a home, plus she was married. So I opened them all one by one and re-read them, then oddly, I put themn in new envelopes again and sealed them up, addressed them and threw them frisbee style into the water. I dont know why I bothered to readdress them all, but I did.