What We Chose To Be

You are here.
Or are you?
A hundred light years far,
In craters,
Or the red star.
You travel,
You do.
From a gloomy memory lane,
To a lighted new.
Like tip toeing to the aisle,
Beside the white lane of withered flowers.
They had been there once,
Witnesses,
To our ecstatic love.
But we chose mosses and thorns,
Dug them out,
To surface our path.
To step and see,
How we bleed to each other's love.