The Whispering of the Stars
I have traversed the lonely map
Of incalculable backroom bars
Where the whiskey breath of love and death
Robbed me of my dreams;
I have drained each beer tap
Until a dust was left behind
To swiftly coat the drying throat
Where lodged the silent screams.
In the dankest roach motels
I have sprawled upon the floors,
The railway lines and neon signs
The company I kept;
I have lived where sadness dwells
And it ripped my heart in two,
And it broke my bones like fossil stones
Until I bowed and wept.
I have been poised before the night
When sheer nothing stood between,
An endless chill upon this hill,
Siberian winds and I;
And thus frozen, frail and white,
The whispering of the stars,
An evaporate that cannot wait,
A fleeting, wordless cry.
Now that all of my mistakes
Are the ghosts of my own hands,
Twitch pale and gaunt and always haunt
My selfish, shadowed ways;
Like a living tree that breaks,
By Siberian frosts exploded,
The whispering of the stars,
The vacuum of my days…
Copyright © Tony Bush | Year Posted 2005
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