She is sleeping now.
In the quiet of the night I gaze down upon her face
And try to remember my reasons for coming here again.
I touch her hand, softly caressing each of her delicate fingers;
Enjoying that simple sensation of touch which still lingers in the mind.
She is beautiful and at peace; dreaming unknown dreams
Which smooth the lines from her face revealing the child within
So pure and innocent, freed from the truths which press upon her mind
Effecting her every waking thought.
I kiss her hair.
Warm, Goddess spun silk falling over her shuttered eyes
Which, when opened, could steal any heart she chose.
Her body lies enfolded within her garment's shroud,
Exaggerating enticement by a magnitude
Mere nakedness could never attempt.
The night is still, her beauty silent, immaculate,
With only the beating of our hearts
And soft sighing of our breath to disturb the tranquility.
It is winter again. I am older.
I have, perhaps, only just begun
To learn from the errors of my youth.
I sit here. Alone. Exorcising Ghosts;
Spirits of my past returning in quiet moments
Reminding me of loss and love.
If you had only waited forever as I now wait;
Comforted by spirits of a more material kind,
Though fluid as the memories which remain.
How easily I squandered time
When so little we possessed. Had I known
I might have told you and not left you to guess.
Again I come here. Again I return alone.
Poetry & lyrics (c) Zakala 1998 some rights reserved.
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons License.