In the House of Waiting
The clock ceases ticking
The heart starts quickening
The postman never calls
There is no-one at the door
The bags are always packed
Too heavy to be dragged
The hour is never nigh
When happiness arrives
There is never enough time
To satisfy the mind
At night the clocks go slow
Big Ben echoes
Grief fills the void
Tears for those who died
Sorrow, sorrow stains the hour
For losses borne in sweetest flower
Hopes, regrets collide like stars
Suspended, dropping from afar
All to do is sit and wait
The House taps out its measured fate
No comments:
Post a Comment