Walking down deserted streets
of empty harbored cities,
looking for an answer; where is there one to find?
A sound reaches through the walls
of vacant stained-glass windows–
a sound that shatters the echoes of my mind:
“Hello,”–a voice so soft and gentle.
“Hello, what are you doing here?”
Oh I have searched through books and printed page
to find an answer;
tho’ I found nothing there.
While words fell like rain from printed page in candlelight,
a soft spoken hello came to guide me through the night.
And I have tried to catch the rainbow;
in hopes to find
a pot of riches–knowledge more than gold.
A barren dream is what I found–
a cauldron full of wishes–
a worthless treasure chest of vague desire.
(A dove flew past my window in the morning.
It cooed a song, a certain sad farewell.
And tho’ I felt the sun that warmed the boughs of yellow roses,
in the distance thunder rolled across the land.
The dove became a hawk as the thunder tolled
(and answers haven’t found me yet);
a searing wind that burned the leaves
off every living thing,
but captured only what was lost.