For Valentine’s

I thought I’d dust off an old poem I wrote a decade ago for the occasion.

Sitting on the windowsill,
I see the rain begin to fall.
The sky;
Grey and livid,
Battered and bruised.
She sings in such strange ways,
But we listen.

Sometimes,
When the time’s just right
and the rhythm catches me
Just a little off guard,
I sing back…

Of these hands they’re made for holding,
These lips here just for you,
My eyes who see only sadness,
And this voice that hides the truth.

In chorus then
We find ourselves
More tarnished than before,
Drowning in the ocean swell
And washed upon the shore.
With hands so cracked and withered,
With eyes so red and sore.
These lips chapped unto bleeding
And a voice that sings no more.

Still the sky’s so grey and livid
But singing to me she calls,
While I’m sitting on the windowsill
Watching rains begin to fall.

~Chris

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