it is silent in the house, in the wee hours of black morning
no sound affronts my ears but the gentle tap tap tapping
of a few stray rain droplets who have made their escape
falling down

down

down the vault of the heavens
to fulfill their life purpose; like kamikazes
they bravely take the fatal plunge
into the abyss
the sky groans as an airliner cuts through
and I hear a new sound: or am I hearing it at all?
more than audible - it becomes tangible
the steady rising thump from my chest
a wild song of native tribe
pounds on the taut skin inside of me
beating
beating
beat - tap
beating

a cry, no louder than a whisper
is the melancholy melody
an infinitesimal sliver, like a keyhole
of rising Golden light

As far as my eye can see,
There is naught but empty light
The heav'ns reach on for miles,
Endless in stark gray-white.

No geese to speckle the plain,
Suspended above our heads
Only a cold blanket of fog
And the frozen earth, a bed.

Saturated in its melancholy pain,
The sky strains to uphold its saline sea,
Until its strength is spent through
And sky's frozen tears burst free.

I knew the end had come,
Such a ceremonious segway into death
But after the pomp faded away
Came long the mourning days.

And in mourning, sorrows become dear
I slowly forgot what death I mourn'd.
Safely occupied by the copious comfort
Speculating the new road I must walk alone.

But now, as my soothing summer air turns chill,
And the leaves shrivel and die,
Each night marks the passing of another day
Drawing nearer the dead's true end.

It steals upon me, with insidious cunning
A bitter cup I must partake,
I see the dead are not truly dead
Until mourning is ended.

So I shall never cease to beg Heaven
To send you back to me,
I shall never cease to let these tears
Of life and mourning free.