The Midnight Walk
Softly uttered, beneath cold biting mist,
footfalls muffled through stifling drifts, empty sidwalks embrace noone,
Frost heavily pluming, clinging on each sigh
In night's brazen stillness, beneath eerie lamp glow waning,
When dawn's long in coming, and all sleep like the dead,
Ah, then lets take a walk shall we , you and i?
Strolling as one, hand in hand, through icy winds
Past the churchyard gates, snow laden and chained,
Beyond empty glances of headstone cherubs,
Far off in darkness, solemn bells toll with straining conviction,
as winds moan wistfully, the tolling pierces the heart,
And I wonder in passing, how many more walks have we,
Beneath the silent moon overhead, white as bones in a shroud,
Shall the secnt of cinnamon haunt me into my dreams, yes i am certain,
For your eyes resemble heavens gates, amd my soul longs for redemption,
An angel draped in my tattered, time-worn jacket, littered with marks of life's ventures,
And yet you bear no wings to fly, but still you comfort me as morning draws nigh,
Crosstown bungalow, windows shuttered, still as my breath
As you I guide you once more up treacherous steps,
Our hands we let fall, a yearning stare betrays me,
"Tomorrow night again? Or when shall it be??",
Only a nod and a smile left imprinted to my heart,
"Hang on to the jacket. I'll pick it up in the morning."
Your smile never falters, unweathered by the wind,
And I turn to leave this night and you,
Leave this world behind for the rising sun,
An arm reached out, gripped with sorrow and infinity,
Pulled back into your everlasting embrace,
A kiss so deep, I feel I'm drowning,
God, let me drown...let me...drown....
You're gone.
Empty streets the morning finds,
save for me and my memories, trapped between time,
Stray dog struts past, hunting eagerly some alleyway breakfast,
But my business waits at the churchyard, still silent, still chained,
I climb over and drop, the gates clank in protest,
Between the rows of headstones, I walk in solemn sprit,
Thirteen rows now, then fifiteen, I know the way well,
And upon the eighteenth row, I find without mistake,
And draped across the frozen ground.....
My tattered, time-worn jacket.
Copyright © Robert Chirino 3rd | Year Posted 2015
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