Crystal moonlight, sparkling rain spots
patter on the ground like the tears of time,
lamenting loneliness and listless thoughts.
Still lay the world and harrowed heart of mine
as I stood in the drizzle in the street I lived
before the journeys of life took me from here.
Too long away from this familiar road
how I still remember its quirks over years.
Yet, mist, dour is the Avenue this night.
Showered fog and cold chill filled the air,
covered one’s breath and closed around tight.
Sadness filled the semblance of senses there.
Slowly I moved along the pavement, aware.
Aware of the doors, vacuity and languor,
searching for a reflection in the window glare
but all I saw was a hazy tone in view
as I wandered towards my home
on the corner of Westlake Avenue.
Dawn still hours away, I was relieved for time to come.
To be here standing, at my front door
where behind it, my beloved sleeps
although she does not sleep beside me anymore.
A soldier, brave and strong, can weep
for to him it has been so long.
I drifted weightlessly up the stairs
and stood outside her, our, room for a while.
For somehow now it seemed an intrusion,
although we’d shared this home for several years,
I’d spent most of those away, exiled.
I hoped she wouldn’t mind it being late
and she wouldn’t mind that I couldn’t call.
That she’d see me standing there and smile
and it wouldn’t be as if a while.
Slowly, silently I opened the door
and she was asleep, not stirring at all.
Soundly sleeping, beautifully, just breathing,
eloquently tranquil as if deeply dreaming.
I moved close, the covers tucked to her chin
looked fitting embracing her soft pale skin.
Even in my absence she stayed strict to her side,
as the rain outside continued pouring
mine looked pure and clear and calling.
I walked around and sat with care
so not to disturb anything.
The sheets did not crease
as I perched and watched her there.
My weary eyes drew to a photo by her head,
a picture from the falls, months before the war,
‘Do your hard-man pose’ she’d said.
My portrait still was sitting on the window-sill,
in which she’d made me do the same.
I smiled. She was still.
I rose, and looked carefully into the frame
and I did not see myself.
I am no longer that man, bar name.
I walked around and stood over her once again.
Elegance, perhaps more so than when me met,
strangers at a party, both shy and insecure.
How sure I knew she deserved her peace
but so difficult I found it to resist
and I leant over to cede a kiss.
I kissed her cheek, and felt her breath
pass through me, warmth of life.
I felt passion flow through her face,
she woke with angst and spoke with grace.
Asking if anyone was there in pure tone,
her open eyes as still and firm as stone.
Such splendid stone of seraphic craft,
a melodious voice with which she asked
a question I could not answer.
I wanted to shout to know I’m here
but knew it would be a futile shout.
‘Please’ I whispered as she sat,
‘I love you’ I lamented
as I faded out.
![[send message]](https://www.writerscafe.org/images/mail.png){kind=small}
![[befriend]](https://www.writerscafe.org/images/friend.png){kind=small}
Share This
Email
Facebook
Twitter
Read Request
My Library
Flag Writing
