There he was,
forsaken and rapt.
No-one to see,
no-one to hear.
A world unseen
with words unsaid.
Quiver and trembling
his only guests.
By his bed,
the willow tree stood
veiling him away
by the rejected brook.
His angst and will -
the never ending scene.
The long haul
never dull, never gone.
There she was,
waiting for him.
So many words,
so many songs.
She wrote them all
with ink and blood.
The fervent yearning,
the directionless soul.
Clueless she sat,
by the river-side.
Not a word from him?
Not even a sigh?
The crease on the head
A tear was born.
The eternal lull -
waiting to be gone.
That dire night,
She saw a flame.
Her granny's locket
in the window, it chimed.
And then she knew,
it was a sign.
Cold, her hands
and feet, they stayed.
Didn't move an inch,
failed to sway.
Her fingers traced,
the molten wax
The over-whelming calm
of a starless sky.
Miles of darkness
No milestones to match.
Beneath his skin,
he felt the twitch.
Why didn't she come?
The shudder within.
The rain yelled, the brook
snarled and roared.
Who would hear?
He laughed to himself.
Drenched with distress,
submerged deep inside.
Killing the light,
without a sigh.
This is it,
this is the end.
He closed his eyes
and mumbled to himself.
By the window,
her endless wait.
Her dusty finger,
painting the pane.
She knew he'd come.
She'd seen the sign.
Pebbles on the road,
gleamed in the moonlight.
The hazy air
the moistened eye.
Between heartbeats
were missed breaths.
Stony traces
the void, they filled.
No stories to be told,
No humbling of the core.
Their tale -
untold, it was doomed.
Just footsteps and rustling,
no spectators, no remorse.
The crimson moon,
unharmed and virgin.
The earth too far,
blurry shadows to cast.
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