A thousand times I heard you cry
and always gently gathered up
the tears amid the moaning wind
that brought the cold, cold falling dark
and draped the world in thought long gone.
Too much to hold in moment new
unless I loose my newfound strength
and let the voices calling me
undress and tear asunder all
that holds a universe in place
and keeps a heart alive.
There is no time, there is no space:
an empty endless realm
of words that echo on and on
until in silence, small and lost,
they leave only wisps of dreams
that touch the heart with grief.
My hands are empty, all forgot
the days of plenty, warm and full.
The chimney nook, in soot and grime,
an image in a dusty book
that sits atop a bookcase grand
in homes now dwelt by shafts of light
still holding all the dust of years
in shining tribute of long-lost
love and laughter gay that no more comes
to bring the lightness of the hearts
that lived a life too soon now gone,
forgot amid the ever-circling years
that rob us of the dream well dreamt.
Yet, had we known or understood
'twas simply fodder for a far-off cry
faint heard upon the hearth of yesteryear
and left to die and weep in still decay,
would we still cling so longingly
to all that captures heart and soul
and pulls us ever down and down
till naught can find us for the fall
of all that once we held so fine
and cherished with a blossoming swell
of joy that filled, as odors sweet?
In bliss, our beings all unbound,
untouched by sorrow, unlearned, and new--
Too young, too innocent we walked
the path still damp with springs sweet dew
and flowers fragrant crushed we left
not knowing how our footsteps would appear
when seen again with bitter tear
that stains the aged cheek, in wiser silence
left to speak not, lest we tell
the secrets best borne in somber hue
among the falling leaves that whisper of
what most we fear.