When the candles gutter
and the bedsheets entangle me
in the convolutions of an
indistinctly menacing emptiness,
and i wander like a lost child
through gaping chasms of
the unfamiliar terrain of loneliness--
When the light flickers
like a moth against the face
of this black world
and my soul is flailed
in the silent faces
of loves lost in time,
and I feel the nails
driving me through;
when there is nothing to forgive,
and the penance seems
too light--
It is in these times of horror
when the town clock
rings only a moment,
and the echos follow me
out of the bedroom
and through the door,
that I wish you were with me;
only you can dispell this horror.
By Jason Paul Fox
