Outside, the early morning's sky
Is still blackened by its evening's mother.
And the dank atmosphere of argument
Lingers like a vision that meets the madman
On the road home.
Where has the sacrifice of love gone?
You turn, unsettled, and whisper
In my ear, "It is over,
There is nothing left to say,"
And I in the deep water
Of recognition do not ask questions
But move from the bed
That has stuck by us for ten years now,
Stand and walk away as if the resolution
Of time had dawned in a different age,
Talking through the mess of acceptance
Such words bring, stand and walk
Away knowing that the age of reason
Is here as you turn away and sleep on.
I stumble and falter: the moon shifts
And all the time the triumph of silence
Mumbles: 'it is over it is over it is over"
As if anything in the world mattered.
If you've any comments on
this poem, John
Cornwall would be pleased to hear from you.