White Souls

Today becomes today

before tonight turns into morn.

And I sit and think

You’ll think on me,

in the way You would not mourn

the broken pieces that were once

better whole,

but now they’re torn,

and my soul grows old,

lying cold,

on the heart that’s

sprawled out on the small white floor.

-

We once held dances for the many,

when the many were around.

This wooden floor knew

shoes,

and stockings,

and feet,

but the memories of the

drowned out

sounds of toasts by hosts under laughter,

raising their glasses above their crowns,

before they drank through wars and

afterwards,

were nowhere to be found.

-

A tall white tower seems quite poor,

if you look from far away.

A flag that once stood,

waving from such height,

sags shawled against the lithic decaying

wall of roses and rocks,

outlined by shadows on moss,

resting against the tops of bows

with arrows and

draws,

to shoot and kill his pray.

-

As the days transformed to nights,

She saught to go,

I tried to say,

that today, tonight, tomorrow,

We’ll play these games,

but there’s no delight for my sorrow,

only spite

blocking the thoughts I can’t convey

my Dear,

there’s no light for tomorrow,

if You’ll only run away.

-

The sounds of trains may keep me up tonight,

but you’d never understand.

The click of clockwork comes at a costly price

for the Woman who wanted a hand,

to touch,

and help,

and pray,

yet got dragged up these endless flights of stairs,

She begs you,

don’t come looking,

for the Woman who is not there.

-

-

I wait atop this small white tower,

I think upon Your face.

I sit and pray You’ll think on me,

in any kind of way,

and today turns to tomorrow,

and life

goes

day by day,

as the evening turns to night,

and today becomes today.