The Problems of Loving a God- A Poem about Sherlock Holmes
I.
Sherlock was a god born into a time he didn't belong in
who had eyes that reflected the depths of the ocean,
his hair like the waves
and a heart that kept on drowning.
He was a young god living to die, to feel alive, to steal fire so he can light up his cigarettes,
breathing out the smoke of glory and light into every room he entered.
His eyes, resplendent with color and devouring light with their intensity
reflects his struggle of having the insight and knowledge to tear nations into dust,
knowledge no man should carry on their shoulders.
His curse is that he sees everything and knows pain no mortal man can endure. But he must.
II
He bled gold and silver,
and you, a mortal, a dreamer, kept on collecting the droplets to sell
not seeing the wounds.
You were his prophet, his mouthpiece, his messenger,
the one tie he had in the world to connect himself to it.
You bent your knee in worship, but your knees ached
You stood too fast
and didn't understand why you felt so dizzy,
III
A spell, you said, a curse.
IV
There was something beautifully devastating about breaking a god
and ravaging their hearts surrounded in ivory pillars, something which
you can safely say no other man had done before.
There's something about drawing blood, which is not truly blood,
because the blood of other mortals wouldn't make you feel delight as if you'd struck a goldmine.
Your name on his tongue, hissing and whimpering, begging and delightful,
is sin. But you love every minute of it.
You keep drawing your name from his mouth.
V
You call him by his real name one night,
a name he hadn't been called in centuries.
He screamed and the rain poured outside like the heavens were collapsing,
his eyes darkened with his agony, and his wings trembling like he wanted to fly away.
Maybe he did.
Atlas, you call him, touching his face. He recoils from your touch.
Atlas,
Atlas,
Atlas
You will carry the weight of the universe all your life, Atlas.
Endure.
His screams echo from the walls of the castle, but the thunder outside drowns it out.
VI
His eyes see through every part of your soul.
He can dissect you to the bone marrow and know every word you've left unsaid,
every word you've never meant,
every single thought that runs through your head.
You tell him you love him
and he smiles like he smiles at everyone that lies to his face.
You wonder if one day you'll receive the same fate as them.
Or if one day he'll finally believe you.
VII
His wings are colored in shades you've never imagined,
and his halo cuts you when you dare to touch him.
Your blood is red, useless, common,
but he forgets to breathe when he sees it, his eyes going wide at the reminder of how fragile you truly are.
You step forward to take his face into your hands
but he heals your wounds in a blink of an eye and in the next one,
he's gone.
He's a god, after all. You cannot find him if he does not want to be.
VII
He says he did not realize how easy it is to break humans.
VII
You revolve around one another,
and history has you both written into its script.
His legacy will live forever, and you-
You, you mortal,
cannot die because you fell in love with a god and his touch is divine.
You cannot die.
Your name is written into the book of history
and you will live forever alongside your beloved.
You hope the wax wings he gave to you can hold you up,
and the sun will not blind you to your love for him,
