Fugitives Poem by Cheryl L. DaytecYañgot

The world does not belong to this place
Not to this time
Mine. Yours. Ours together
Marooned in contentment
Yet
Fear laced with sorrow
Slowly, deliberately slithers
Over our peace
Like a snake after its prey
The longing to remain here
In the circle of your embrace
To say vows
We want to honor
But may not
For to honor them
is to be dishonorable
Tugs, stays, tempts, explodes

Our pace rises to crescendo
Impelled to create as much distance
Between us and the world
Chasing us

When the sun vacates the horizon
Darkness is our wide shawl
Hiding us
From the million prying eyes
Our paths are as clear
As our catastrophe
We walk
One soul
Split in two lonely parts going
To opposite directions
Behind us a crumbling arcadia
That was never really ours to keep.

(for MB and CV)