deepundergroundpoetry.com
For Andrea
Numb sanctuary in the mournful cold
Bitter by waters no cup can hold.
A thousand statues—perhaps more
With faces turned from the shore
Are waiting for gardens to grow
As centuries mirthless bitterly flow.
I heard the men cry
Wearing the mist.
Rays the clouded twilights shed
From flames afar—long dead
Reach late the ashen bowers
Where lie for restless hours
In confines farther than sleep
The fallen petals for which the prayers weep.
I heard the men cry
I heard the men cry.
I heard the men cry
Wearing the mist.
Sweet lonely, lonely shadows bend
Begging the light to be a friend
What figures each playfully scrawls
In the haloes that grace the walls
Only to join—locked in their woe
Waiting for the gardens to grow.
I heard the men cry.
I heard the men cry.
I heard the men cry
Wearing the mist.
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