My Beloved

Here I sit,
Quill in hand.
I dip it
into the blackest
of black ink.

I bring it towards
the brown parchment.
What should I say?
And to whom
shall I say it?

To my mother?
or to my lover?
No, to my beloved wife.
Who stays with me
through thick and thin.

I tell her of my love for her
and how I'll leave my mistress.
I see the tears flow from her eyes
And know she see my lies
And yet she gives me a smile.

The Holy days are
here,she says.
And you must repent,
God has given us our Lent
but you did not get my hint.

I see the gun
and think, I must run.
But this is my wife,
the mother of my children.
we never had any strife.

I hear the sound
I feel the pressure
She walks around
and kneels by me
to watch my blood flow out.