Heartbreaks & Hallelujahs

She sits by a window,

her back to me, a stranger already,

empty bottles on the table still,

the dawn pouring in,

the silhouette of a guitar

in her hidden lap,

her cheeked turned away now, forever.

She strums an ancient arpeggio:

me - a baffled king,

her - softly singing

Hallelujah.

A secret chord drew me

from the mezzanine floor,

barefoot, down thin stairs

into a room sunken

in melancholy;

hidden in the morning light

her beauty overthrew me.

Dead ashes fill the hearth,

warmth has left the room,

there’s a frigid stillness,

a distant silence where she sits

and I never heard the tears

falling on the frets,

fingers never felt

their perfect tristesse;

we never saw the marble arch

after all: this love is not

a victory march.

What changed as the light

shot in that cold morning,

as a someone outdrew me?

What sadness she carried.

Now, memory is eternal –

mourning by last night’s fire -

sitting on a broken throne,

her silhouette still there,

cheek turned to the frosted window pane,

strings cold and broken,

quiet like winter woods;

her love has left me baffled,

breathless, still humming

Hallelujah.