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
online at: https://chrisnelson61.wordpress.com/
