Where you are, there are lanterns lit
and stained glass windows
and quiet footfall.
Where I am, my spirit weeps
and shadows hover without end.
Where you are, you do not speak.
Your lips are sealed and no song burst forth,
your glory dimmed beneath the windows.
You don't see the lanterns lit.
You don't hear the hushed, quick footfall.
An ornate prison hides your form.
And I still weep in quiet shadows,
pray for miracles of ancient times.
Perhaps today the tomb is empty!
The stone displaced!
The linens left!
But you can't see me weep in shadows.
You don't care for lanterns lit
or stained glass windows
or whispered reverence.
No ceremony for your crown.
You won't give me ancient miracles!
You won't comfort me in kind!
Your cruel silence,
this deathly hour,
my midnight mourning,
such ghostly folly is my reward for each tear shed.
And all I have are stained glass windows
and the pangs of knowing that you're dead.
Thank you for reading. Please feel free to leave your thoughts or vote if you liked this poem. :)
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The Wanderer: A Collection of Poetry
PoetryA collection of musings on immortality, sadness, death and loss, and the hope of eventual happiness.
