The clock stops ticking. I
Stand her listening
to what?...nothing.
My black suit covers my
Exhausted body. The
Color describing
The event
Before my return. I
Cannot hear you, though I
Can feel your presence,
Though I know your
Existence is well beyond
My reach. Where have you gone?
Answer me...aren't you
Thankful that I've
Witnessed your departure-that
I cared for where you
Disappeared into
Mid-light? Did you
See me? Erect upon the
Grass, not lying adjacent
To you? Did your wish
For my warmth to
Bring life to your flesh? The life
I would have given you,
Was what you desired
Of me? How can
The darkness commingle with
The light? I do not, and
Will never exist
As you did. My
Jar of life is filled with filth
From my garden. The
Clock stopped ticking this
Very hour. Make
It tick once more. I wanted
You, I needed you. Your
Light is gone. The clock
Stops ticking. I
Stand her. I listen.
2007-08-04
01:44:00
·
4 answers
·
asked by
Anthony C
4
in
Arts & Humanities
➔ Poetry