by Richard Vince

Smiling at my memories,
I listen to a familiar voice
Singing unfamiliar words
To an unrecognised melody
While the candles flicker
In false darkness.

And even though I know
She won't be here tonight,
I feel content, as though
Her spirit is here and
Smiling too.

My paper looks yellow
In the creamy light
Of the green and black room,
And the curtains betray
The presence of the Sun
In the sky outside,
As it makes its tired way
To its bed behind the horizon.

When I leave, the stars
May be twinkling behind
The clouds that bathe
Lazily in the twilit sky,
Or they may be visible.

Whichever way it is,
I will still feel the light
Of her eyes, though it is
So long since I last
Saw them before me.

But when I breathe
The candles falter and
My light fades temporarily.

So maybe if I stop
Breathing, the light
Will be constant and
Never leave my sight.

And maybe I will leave
My own thoughts
Long enough to pay
Attention for once.
After all, I can listen,
So perhaps I should
Do it more often.

If I succeed I might
Be content again
And feel her eyes again
And smile again.

Perhaps I was just
Looking for a way down.


Posted on 04/21/2002
Copyright © 2019 Richard Vince

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