There Is A Part That Dies In You Poem by Windsor Guadalupe Jr

There is a part of you:
That dies with every bursting pyrotechnic,
Every Christmas gift unraveled,
Every wound unsheathed from bandages,
Every word that you regret saying,
And every promise you kept on breaking,

There is a part of you:
That dies with every dinner talk,
Every shabby prance by the sidewalks,
Every hand clasped from a lover up to another,
In every woman you have made love to,
Every man you drank wine, and stale vigor with,
Trust me, there is a part of you

There is a part of you:
That dies in every altercation,
Or a hopeful part of you when reading fiction,
Or every lie in a conversation,
There is a part of you that enters a demise
That no prayers could revoke – the human soul
Is an irrevocable entity: just like love,
And loss, and hatred, and words

There is a part of you:
That dies with every blaring horn from an automobile,
Every passing aeroplane – especially
When you stare blankly at the starless sky,
Then more than a part of you dies,
Oh, heaven demurred upon our prayers –
Is heaven a selfish sea of alternating tides?
A part of you might die while reading every line here,

There is a part of you:
That dies in every waking breath
Of a lover across his chest, or beside her waist;
There is a part of you that dies in the sweet scent
Of tulips or an elegant perfume that you have smelled for a moment
But taking too long a time or a year to forget

There is a part of you:
That dies – and there is not much we can do
But to try to live through the palest baleful hues;
Pain is a painter, with the colors black and red in its palette,
But then, if there is a part that dies in you –
Perhaps, somewhere far off, an autumn-smudged field
There’d be a part that would live in you - for you.