a smoke filled room
in one of New Orleans low wards
the kind of place that can change you
in a moment
and leave you dreamin about a face
that you saw in a moment
in the dark light
a face that had her voice
a face that held a world of promises
and held a heart full of sunshine's love
the smoke filled room is still there
you return to it each night
drink yourself stupid trying
to recapture that moment
recapture that face
that voice
that love
but shes gone
disappeared that night
down the road in the pouring rain
down to the factory's that never sleep
to the river road
where the small ships and the great liners
embark for points distant
for places that you cant even pronounce
and that's where she has gone
like a cloud
she drifted away
that smoke filled room is still there
and so are you every night
praying someday she will return
and every day
you labor on the river
fishing for hope
in the dark waters
of despair
down on the river road
the old men gather
to tell their tales
of sea fairing
and of deep waters dream
but river men have their own tales to tell
of mysterious women dressed
all in black luring men to watery death
in backwater or bay
so is it for naught you waited
all these years
perhaps instead of being punished
you are being spared
a watery grave in backwater or bay
Oct 1, 2013
Oct 1, 2013 at 4:03 AM UTC
a smoke filled room
in one of New Orleans low wards
the kind of place that can change you
in a moment
and leave you dreamin about a face
that you saw in a moment
in the dark light
a face that had her voice
a face that held a world of promises
and held a heart full of sunshine's love
the smoke filled room is still there
you return to it each night
drink yourself stupid trying
to recapture that moment
recapture that face
that voice
that love
but shes gone
disappeared that night
down the road in the pouring rain
down to the factory's that never sleep
to the river road
where the small ships and the great liners
embark for points distant
for places that you cant even pronounce
and that's where she has gone
like a cloud
she drifted away
that smoke filled room is still there
and so are you every night
praying someday she will return
and every day
you labor on the river
fishing for hope
in the dark waters
of despair
down on the river road
the old men gather
to tell their tales
of sea fairing
and of deep waters dream
but river men have their own tales to tell
of mysterious women dressed
all in black luring men to watery death
in backwater or bay
so is it for naught you waited
all these years
perhaps instead of being punished
you are being spared
a watery grave in backwater or bay
Request permission to use this poem