The Tower of Song

You always come to find me here,

Across blackened heath,

Horizontal hailstorms,

And if the fires of hell rain from heaven,

Still, still,

I know you’ll come.

#

You kneel at the foot of this tower,

Serenade me,

And you have such a voice,

One that promises so many lifetimes,

So many first and fourth and fifth and second chances;

And I answer you in melody

-the least I could do-

In a voice made of gold,

That floats down from this window like a fine coating of snow.

#

You’re so very much different to the women who’ve killed me,

There’s no poison in you,

No soft, pin-cushioned doll that you hide in your bag while you smile,

There is just you,

You and your voice;

And the song of an angel floats up at me from the ground,

A song made of wings,

Which could free me if I still sought freedom.

Picture credit/discredit:  author's own work