The Bells of St. Mark’s – Chris Nelson

And I heard the bells of Saint Mark’s

Their plaintive cry counting the distance

Like crows on the wind

That stretched between us

Each solemn tone a landmark

On the horizon that I could never reach

Each echoed silence a hollow

Where all your words lie naked bruised

I hear that the winter bites hard where you are

Its vampiric grin suckling the life

From the earth and the sky

And you

Yet here beneath a sun that grills the soil

Parches, carves wrinkles into skin

Marks the places where you once were

I feel only the cold

The door you left ajar deep

Inside my soul

And I shiver at the loss or at the knowing

That the shape you left

Will never fill

With sound or warmth or hope

And I stand in the shadowed frame

Of the window

Which reaches out like an old man

Dying in the night

In the moment that he realises

The loneliness that has always been

His companion in the dark

And the light

And across the town across the plane

Still rings the sound

Of the bells

Of Saint Mark’s.

© All original writing copyright Chris Nelson 2000-2020

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Published by grumpygorman

I am a Social Worker by day and an artist/writer by night. I use the written word in an attempt to make sense of the secret worlds and dysfunctional dynamics that lurk beneath the facades of our daily interactions. I am not sure how my writing styles are characterized, nor am I overly concerned about it. I am immensely enthusiastic about music and often connect better with songs than I do people. I also have an intense appreciation for quality wines and whiskies, frequently consuming them in excess. I like things that smell good and struggle to manage the symptoms of a life-long relationship with depression. So, why "grumpygorman"? Spend some time here and find out...

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