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There is a gaze within my heart
That views what I can never see:
The frosted sky where thou art
Through the tears I weave for thee.

And these tears cannot be seen,
It is my soul, my silence which cries
Where thy visage has forever been—
Where they gather behind my eyes.

They fall not inside my breast,
To water the grounds of thy remains,
By frost and blossoms caressed.
They flow—an ache within my veins.

They fall not, and are not given
To the petals that circle and rise
Like souls to the sorrows of Heaven
Beyond the pale and loveless skies.

It is in dreams that I may weep…
In the refuge of the burden I bear,
In the restless dark I cannot call sleep—
I see Death forever waiting there.

I thought I saw you repent in vain,
By the dark and Lethean stream.
And I pray to see you once again
In some other, happier dream.

And the tears that I weave
Weigh down upon my heart.
Alas thou should take thy leave—
Long ere I depart.

I saw you, beyond the door.
I felt you and opened the way
To see you there no more,
On this, your dying day.

The keys are in my hand,
The door is waiting in the sky,
Perhaps my love will understand
If I too should choose to die.

What moments with death do fade?
When, at length, I pass my final years,
And my heart in judgement is weighed—
Then, ah then, shall I shed the tears?


© 2021 Marten Hoyle