Like a corked wine
bitterness spoils the soul
from the inside
imperceptibly
taking the time
to age slowly
only to be revealed
too late for salvation.

Like ancient bloodletting
grieving prepares the soul
coaxing bad humours
from the body
one memory at a time
replacing despair with
melancholic acceptance 
giving rise to tomorrow’s
bitter sweetness.

Like freeing a dove
that will not return
letting go becomes
love’s purest act
a selfless offering
the other-ness of happiness
atoning our sins to
nourish the altruism
we conceal.

There are myriad futures
marking the paths
we only think we choose
for the gods write straight
with twisted lines
towards a wholeness
we’ve yet to imagine
we’re meant to become.