Silence, for her it Sings

Tonight
The bell tolls,
But louder
Than ever before.

An empty
Wasteland this is
For miles around.
Not a cathedral
In sight,
No fervent tenors,
No raven in flight.

The echo
That sounds,
But sounds.
Refusing to fade,
With all the
Fullness of
A dying hymn.

A plea she
Shrieks-
Impassioned,
Frantic,
With the last
Living breath
Of the knell
She heard,
That no one saw.

She saw
All but her.

Trees that bloom
Through autumn winds;
Stars that shrivel,
But never die;
Love that flies,
And never falls.

“Great depths of
Truth and
Worship,
Does live.
So do pain,
And passion dear.
As for dreams
And love complete,
It dances
And sings,
As willing we breathe.
No wry smile,
Nor cynic bent of mind;
No fear,
Nor butterfly
In gleeful flight.
All I see,
But me I feel
Love.”

She talks,
Still
Forever more.
In a dark
Desolate hallway,
With ashen gypsies
By her side.
The grave-ridden
But rise up
In communion.

She lay
On a grail so thin,
With pasty hands,
And wrinkled feet.

A lifetime ago
She said.
A life
Of wanton bliss,
A profane
Emptiness,
A dream
Of what
Could have been.

Her trance,
A mirage
She lusted for.
No one but her
Ever heard,
Nor saw her dream.

The bell still tolls,
And through
Silence
It shall for ever more.