[Blocked]
Without a window to view into that sheltered hut
that holds your heart I can not see where the day begins
or ends, where waves might ebb and flow.
There on the highest library shelf even beyond even
my reach with the ladder, your words are held, bound in leather,
written in dark brooding India Ink, with fountain pen...
Or so I imagine - in some far off locale where even
in the summer it is cool because the ancient canopy of the trees
protects you from all manor of weather
Or maybe you are on some sandy, wind beaten shore
where coral is found in bits and pieces - gifts from the ocean floor
after being coughed up by storms
Grey clouds that can be seen for miles, lasting for days,
then when the sun arrives there is the thick haze of low clouds
being burned away - rays then crisp your skin...
Without a door I cannot knock, tell you who I am or where
I’ve been or why I might have wanted to be your friend - but years
ago like you, there was another
Whose eyes closed and refused to see - that loyalty
once turned away - is then a gift no longer free. And life goes on -
that living stage, where all must eventually take a final bow
For the scene once spent calls for the lights to dim,
and for the curtains to draw - Perhaps there is an echo of applause
for the words once were rent?
I suppose it matters not, these words tossed
like wind swept seeds - to know that without a window or a door,
your soul as was theirs, is beyond my humble reach...
©JP/davh
